UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


O  1ST  O  Q  U  A 


BY 


FKANCES  C.  SPARHAWK 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10    MILK    STREET 
1892 


COPYRIGHT,  1892,  BY  FRANCES  C.  SPARHAWK 


All  Eights  Reserved 


ONOQU A 


C   J.  PETERS  &  SON 

TYPE-SETTERS  AND  ELKCTBOTYPEBS 

145  HIGH  STREET,  BOSTON 


TO      MY      SISTERS 

1L  £.  an*  IS.  3.  S, 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  NAUMATIN 5 

II.  IN  ONOQUA'S  FOOTSTEPS  ....  16 

III.  AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS         ...  23 

IV.  No  HOPE 34 

V.  CETANGI 41 

VI.  THE  STUMBLING  STONE     ....  50 

VII.  KEEPING  CLOSE  RANKS       ....  58 

VIII.  ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENTS   ....  63 

IX.  RATION  DAY 72 

X.  MAUKEENEET 78 

XI.  THE  VISIT 85 

XII.  THE  MESSAGE  OF  WANIGISKA        .        .  89 

XIII.  CETANGI  SPEAKS 101 

XIV.  OVERHEARD 107 

XV.  A  GRAY  NIGHT     .        .        .        .        .        .117 

XVI.  THE  WARNING    ..'...  125 

XVII.  THE  THREAT 131 

XVIII.  WINTER 138 

XIX.  IN  THE  STORM 146 

XX.  CETANGI' s  RIDE 154 

XXI.  PURSUIT ,  160 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

XXII.       WOBK 166 

XXIII.  MISREPRESENTED 176 

XXIV.  DID  SHE  TELL  You 183 

XXV.     FACE  TO  FACE 191 

XXVI.    A  JUNE  DAY 195 

B 

XXVII.     GATHERING  CLOUDS        .  203 

XXVIII.    THE  WERE  WOLF 207 

XXIX.    A  COUNCIL  OF  STATE         ....  216 

XXX.    MAUKEENEET'S  NEWS 225 

XXXI.    GHOST  DANCERS 229 

XXXII.    MAHAKA'S  APPEAL 235 

XXXIII.  REVENGE 240 

XXXIV.  ONOQUA'S  DECISION 248 

XXXV.    THROUGH  THE  HOSTILE  COUNTRY    .        .  253 

XXXVI.    BEARING  ONOQUA'S  MESSAGE       .        .        .  258 


INTRODUCTION 


A  LADY  said  to  me  not  long  since :  "  I  have  bought 
calico  at  an  Indian  agency  at  twelve  and  a  half  cents 
a  yard,  and  seen  the  trader  sell  this  same  calico  to 
an  Indian  woman  for  fifty  cents  a  yard."  In  the 
discussion  over  the  Indian  appropriation  bill  in  Con 
gress,  it  was  stated  that  at  one  agency  there  were 
two  Indian  traders  who  made  $20,000  a  year  apiece. 

A  returned  student  writes :  "  Some  of  the  girls,'7 
—  naming  them,  —  "  seemed  to  keep  up  as  long  as 
their  school  dresses  lasted.  Last  winter,  in  one  of 

our  club  meetings,  F appeared  in  a  neat  blue 

flannel  dress  that  looked  like  the  school  uniform 
dresses.  She  looked  very  nice,  and  seemed  to  enjoy 
herself ;  her  face  was  bright  and  interested,  and  she 
looked  like  old  times." 

"All  the  Indians  hunt  and  fish  a  great  deal," 
writes  another  returned  student.  "  They  have  no 
way  to  make  money.  The  men  hunt  deer  and  elk  for 

i 


ii  INTRODUCTION 

their  hides;  the  women  tan  the  hides,  and  make 
them  into  gloves  and  moccasins,  which  they  sell,  and 
sometimes  get  a  good  price  when  worked  with  silk 
thread  and  beads,  in  that  way  get  their  provisions. 
The  men  also  cut  cord  wood  and  haul  freight  for  the 

agency  and    school    use,    from    D ,   seventy-five 

miles  north  of  us,  to  here.  The  women  pick  berries 
and  sell  them  at  a  town  forty  miles  east  of  us. 
They  get  provisions  and  old  clothing,  which  they 
mend  up,  and  in  that  way  clothe  themselves.  There 
are  many  poor  Indians,  but  none  poorer  than  among 

the .     Imagine,  dear  friend,  lying  on  a  piece  of 

a  saddle  blanket  in  the  winter,  and  not  as  much  over 
you,  and  nothing  to  eat,  only  what  you  can  get  of 
neighbors.  Sometimes  I  have  known  them  to  pick 
up  dead  cattle  that  have  lain  several  days,  and  live 
on  that.  Many  times  it  has  made  me  shudder  to 
think  I  could  not  help  them  in  their  daily  bread. 
Gambling  is  practised  on  ^the  whole  reservation. 
The  officers  and  agent  do  not  care.  As  it  is  now, 
young  men  and  women  are  growing  up  in  ignorance, 
with  no  employment  whatever;  consequently,  they 
cultivate  the  art,  or  rather,  practice  of  gambling. 
They  have  no  definite  plan  for  work." 


INTRODUCTION  111 

How  long  are  Indians,  the  true  Americans,  to 
wait  for  that  blessing  that  comes  at  once  to  all  for 
eigners  who  touch  our  shores,  —  the  inspiration  of 
American  laws  ?  How  long  are  we  to  hold  them 
back  from  our  opportunities,  which  every  other  indi 
vidual  may  grasp  wherever  he  can  find  them  ?  How 
long  are  arid  acres,  which  they  have  no  means  to 
irrigate,  to  be  considered  the  sole  requisite  of  these 
people  for  civilization  and  citizenship  ?  In  a  land 
full  of  arts  and  manufactures,  how  long  is  the  cordon 
of  the  reservation,  like  the  Libby  death  line,  to 
imprison  this  race,  full  of  mechanical  and  artistic 
skill  ? 

Who  will  free  the  Indians  ?  Only  Indians  who 
are  free  themselves,  as  only  free  white  men  have 
freed  their  race. 

The  story  of  "  Onoqua "  was  brought  out  as  a 
serial  by  the  "  Congregationalist,"  the  desire  of 
whose  editors  for  justice  to  the  Indians  and  belief 
in  their  possibilities  are  gratefully  acknowledged  by 

F.  C.  S. 

NEWTON  CENTRE,  MASS. 


ONOQTJA 


CHAPTER  I 

NAUMATIN 

• 

LITTLE  Onoqua  held  her  father's  hand  tightly  and 
looked  up  into  his  face  with  those  beautiful  eyes  that 
always  made  him  want  to  do  whatever  she  asked. 

And  now  she  wanted  to  go  away  to  school,  days' 
and  days'  journey  from  her  own  race,  to  be  in  the 
charge  of  white  people  and  to  learn  to  be  like  them. 
They  had  been  enemies  so  often  and  so  lately  that  it 
could  not  be  safe  to  call  them  friends.  And  yet  if 
some  of  them  were  so  here  on  the  reservation,  why 
should  there  not  be  others  elsewhere  ? 

It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  some  of  the  blood  of 
the  white  race  was  in  his  child's  veins,  in  his  own 
also,  and  in  Onoqua's  mother's  veins  as  well.  For 
that  they  had  any  affinity  with  this  white  race,  any 
claim  by  birthright  to  what  it  enjoyed,  any  other  ties 
than  those  to  Indian  life,  had  never  come  into  the 
minds  of  either.  The  Indian  race  was  their  race,  the 
Indian  life  their  life,  the  Indian  fate  their  fate. 

6 


6  ONOQUA 

And  now  Onoqua  wanted  to  be  taught  like  the 
white  people.  She  thought  that  her  father  could  do 
everything  he  wished.  But  Matoska  had  never  felt 
his  limitations  more.  For  it  was  Naumatin  who 
governed  by  a  power  that  men  stronger  than  Matoska 
have  not  effectually  resisted. 

"  I  want  to  go  away  where  the  wonderful  things 
are,"  repeated  Onoqua  still  more  earnestly,  "  I  want 
to  go  with  Okestan,  and  Mesan,  and  the  others.  Let 
me  go,  my  Matoska." 

As  she  pleaded  she  seemed  to  be  again  listening  to 
the  interpreter  as  he  gave  the  story  that  the  teacher 
from  the  far-off  school  was  telling  of  the  new  life 
and  the  better  ways,  the  ways  that  would  give  them 
power  and  a  place  among  white  men.  And  if  little 
Onoqua's  head  had  been  too  ignorant  to  understand, 
she  had  comprehended  it  all  with  her  heart.  And  in 
listening  she  had  not  felt  the  cold  wind  blow  through 
her  scanty  garments,  nor  the  tingling  of  her  little 
bare  feet  on  the  cold  earth  of  the  floor;  the  unplas- 
tered  walls  of  the  log  house  had  seemed  hung  with 
strange  and  beautiful  pictures,  undarkened  by  the 
smoky  light  of  the  dingy  room.  After  the  talk  was 
over,  Onoqua  had  seen  the  teacher  and  the  interpreter 
come  up  to  her  mother.  They  had  glanced  toward 


NAUMATIN  7 

her.  Then  Brother  Sebastian,  the  priest  at  the  mis 
sion  school,  had  talked  with  Naumatin,  and  she  had 
looked  at  the  child  and  nodded. 

Matoska  answered  her  that  she  must  ask  her 
mother,  and  just  then  Naumatin  came  in  from  a 
neighboring  tepee. 

The  child  ran  up  to  her.  But  something  in  Nau- 
matin's  face  stopped  her  before  she  had  taken  hold 
of  her  dress ;  and  she  hesitated  as  she  made  her 
request. 

"Go  away  to  school,  Onoqua?"  echoed  Naumatin. 
"No,  indeed.  You  will  stay  here  with  people  that 
know  how  to  take  care  of  you,  not  go  away  to  be 
killed  by  the  white  men." 

The  child's  eyes  dilated  as  she  shrank  back  from 
her  mother's  angry  face.  "  They  won't  kill  me,"  she 
said,  plucking  up  her  courage ;  "  I  know  they  won't 
kill  me.  I  want  to  go." 

A  lurid  light  burned  in  the  woman's  eyes.  "  Matos- 
ka's  doing,"  she  muttered,  and  turned  her  gaze  upon 
him. 

"  No,  Onoqua's  own  doing,"  he  answered.  "  But  I'd 
like  to  have  her  go,  Naumatin.  She  will  learn  much ; 
it  will  be  good  for  her." 

"  She  shall  never  go,"  cried  the  other,  and  relapsed 


8  ONOQUA 

into  a  silence  of  sullen  anger.  Experience  had  taught 
Matoska  the  uselessness  of  words.  He  stroked  Ono- 
qua's  hair  softly  and  sent  her  to  play  with  her  mates. 

But  all  their  play  was  about  the  strange  school  of 
which  they  had  heard. 

Two  men  sat  talking  in  a  little  house  a  few  miles 
away  from  the  agency  buildings  of  this  Indian  reser 
vation  in  Montana. 

"  I'll  be  up  with  the  mischief-making  thieves,  and 
more,"  cried  the  speaker  furiously;  and  paused  for 
breath.  He  was  a  thick-set,  bullet-headed  man  who 
looked  as  if  he  had  large  faith  in  the  persuasiveness 
of  fists,  and  as  if  in  this  case  he  would  not  be  averse 
to  trying  them. 

"How  are  they  thieves?"  questioned  his  compan 
ion  with  a  ring  of  cold  contempt  in  his  tones  which 
bit  the  ears  of  the  hearer  like  frosty  iron.  "  What  do 
they  steal  ?  " 

"  Do  you  dare  to  question  our  authority  ?  "  retorted 
the  other. 

"To  hold  what  we  have — if  we  can?  No.  But 
to  take  from  others  by  force  what  we  have  never  owned, 
—  I  do.  And  let  me  tell  you  this,  Brother  Sebastian  ; 
you're  not  too  familiar  with  these  waters.  Look  out 
for  snags,  and  be  thankful  if  you  keep  out  of  the 


NAUMATIN  9 

whirlpools.  '  Vestigia  nulla  retrorsum '  is  a  safe  motto, 
and  if  it  does  not  sweep  on  in  accordance  with  your 
humor,  yet,  as  the  elder  here,  I  insist  that  you 
remember  it.  We  have  not  won  these  people  here  by 
our  persuasions,  and  we  should  not  be  too  angry  that 
others  have  done  it.  We  must  be  more  diligent 
another  time." 

"  And  whose  is  Naumatin's  child,  if  not  ours  by 
right  ?  And  Charee's  and  hosts  of  others,  — whose,  I 
say,  if  not  ours?  You  eat  too  little  meat,  Brother 
Ansel  (I'd  like  to  have  said  '  anserj "  he  muttered 
under  his  breath),  "  and  you're  too  much  given  to  fears 
and  comparisons.  The  church  must  have  its  rights, 
and  I  say  again,  and  as  many  times  as  need  be,  those 
children  are  ours ;  they  must  come  into  our  fold ; 
and  they  shall.  Don't  burden  yourself  with  the  ques 
tion  of  details ;  they  will  only  change  their  minds. 
Somewhat  difficult  to  touch.  Or  you  may  prefer  to 
have  them  all  snatched  off  to  school  and  lose  them 
forever,  as  well  as  seeing  our  own  school  dwindle 
again  to  nothing,  as  it  was  before  I  came  here." 

"Nothing  grows  from  dissensions  but  hatred," 
returned  the  elder  man,  his  quietness  at  variance 
with  the  flash  in  his  eyes.  "  But  it  is  late.  Remem 
ber  only  that  as  we  are  placed,  I  cannot  escape  the 


10  ,  ONOQUA 

brunt  of  whatever  blame  your  rashness  may  bring 
upon  us." 

"  Nor  escape  the  credit  of  the  glory,"  retorted  the 
other  as  his  companion  quitted  the  room. 

Brother  Sebastian  went  to  the  window  and  looked 
out  into  the  night.  April  had  brought  few  signs  of 
spring  in  that  northern  highland  of  Montana.  The 
snow  still  lay  in  masses  upon  the  ground,  and  in  the 
cold  brightness,  for  it  was  the  full  of  the  moon, 
added  a  deeper  chill.  The  leafless  trees  and  the 
pines  had  alike  that  aspect  of  winter  harmonizing 
with  the  ground  and  the  glittering  sky,  in  which  not 
one  soft  shade  could  be  found.  The  dazzling  light 
upon  the  hills,  the  deep  shadows  in  their  clefts,  the 
dark  outlines  of  the  river  basin,  with  the  black  lines  of 
the  water  seen  here  and  there  as  it  ran  between  him 
and  a  range  of  hills  on  the  left,  the  solitude  of  the 
spot,  for  the  nature  of  the  ground  hid  what  few  dwell 
ings  lay  near  it  in  the  valley,  the  large,  rude  building 
that,  on  a  hill  a  short  distance  away  overlooked  the  sur 
rounding  landscape,  appearing  in  the  mystical  glow  of 
the  moonlight  as  nearly  picturesque  as  possible  to  its 
ungracefulness  —  all  these  cold  and  hard  and  desolate 
outlines  met  the  eye  of  the  gazer. 

In  the  reaction  from  his  heated  argument,  and  the 


NAUMATm  11 

consciousness  that  if  things  should  not  turn  out  well, 
his  spiritual  brother  would  win  the  day,  the  chill  and 
desolation  of  the  scene  touched  even  the  robust 
nerves  of  Brother  Sebastian.  Would  not  the  lot  of 
a  Bavarian  peasant,  his  birthright,  have  been  better 
than  this  ?  But  all  at  once  he  laughed,  and  the 
snowy  vales  and  the  dreary  hills  renewed  for  him 
their  deep  attractions.  How  far  would  his  voice 
have  ranged  in  his  own  village  ?  But  here  !  For 
beyond  this  hill,  on  the  other  side,  clustered  the 
Indian  tepees  of  the  camp,  and  scattered  here  and 
there  were  the  few  houses  of  the  most  progressive, 
and  stretching  out 'from  these,  their  farms,  if  such 
tracts  could  be  called  farms.  Nature  had  meant  them 
for  grazing,  and  in  the  race  that  now  held  them  skill 
had  not  yet  defeated  nature. 

Beyond  these  were  the  camps  with  their  harvests 
of  souls  to  be  reaped,  and  with  every  harvest  fresh 
honors  for  the  reaper.  This  rude  building  on  the 
hill  was  the  mission  school,  -his  special  triumph. 
Here  should  not  be  his  defeat. 

Mr.  Thurston,  the  teacher  from  the  Eastern  school, 
stood  waiting. 

It  was  time  to  start.  The  great  wagon  was  at  the 
door  of  the  agency  buildings  on  the  morning  follow 
ing  Onoqua's  request. 


12  ONOQUA 

But  where  were  the  score  and  over  of  bright  chil 
dren  who  were  to  start  that  morning  for  their  Eastern 
school  ? 

Before  the  twilight  had  brightened  into  dawn  all 
but  the  handful" 'now  silently  surrounding  him,  the 
handful  who  had  dared  the  dangers  of  the  death 
threatened  to  body  and  soul,  in  order  to  learn  what 
the  white  man  had  to  teach  them,  had  been  whirled 
off  silently  and  swiftly  to  the  mission  school  on  the 
hill. 

Chagrined  at  his  defeat,  Mr.  Thurston  helped  the 
girls  into  the  wagon  and  bade  the  boys  clamber  in 
after  them. 

The  driver  had  already  gathered  the  reins  into  his 
hands,  when  a  pair  of  nimble  feet  flashed  over  the 
space  between  the  fir  wood  at  the  back  of  the  agency 
buildings  and  the  wagon,  and  a  pleading  little  face 
looked  up  into  his. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  too  ?  "  he  asked. 

Onoqua  knew  what  he  meant,  although  she  did  not 
understand  a  word  of  English ;  as  he  comprehended 
her  eager  response  in  her  own  tongue. 

"  Come,  then,"  he  said,  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to 
help  her  into  the  wagon. 

Matoska  came  forward. 


NAUMATIN  13 

Onoqua  drew  her  hand  away  from  the  teacher,  and 
springing  forward  clung  to  her  father.  She  spoke  a 
few  hurried  words,  and  then  kissing  him  with  a  sti 
fled  sob  turned  again  to  the  wagon.  Her  father  lifted 
her  high  in  his  arms,  and  dropping  Lor  well  into  the 
middle  of  it  talked  with  her  a  moment  longer.  "  She 
shall  not  take  you  away,  Onoqua,"  he  finished,  and 
went  hurriedly  into  the  agency  office.  He  had  seen 
his  wife  go  into  the  opposite  end  of  the  house ;  he 
must  find  something  that  would  keep  her  there  until 
the  party  had  driven  off. 

But  as  he  went  in,  Naurnatin  came  out  again  by  the 
same  door  at  which  she  had  entered.  Onoqua  had 
been  aroused  in  the  night  to  hear  the  exhortation  of 
the  priest,  and  Naumatin  had  promised  her  to  the 
mission  school.  But  in  some  way  she  had  escaped 
into  the  darkness.  Her  mother,  beyond  the  moment 
ary  annoyance,  had  not  cared  and  had  promised  her 
for  another  day.  Now,  as  unsuspecting,  she  passed 
through  the  group  toward  the  wagon,  she  suddenly 
caught  sight  of  Onoqua. 

The  woman's  short,  square  figure  seemed  to  heighten 
and  dilate,  her  eyes  flamed,  her  nostrils  distended ; 
for  a  moment  she  stood  glaring,  incapable  of  speech, 
her  hands  clinched  at  her  sides. 


14  ONOQUA 

Onoqua,  after  her  first  sudden  attempt  to  hide  her 
self  behind  the  other  children,  sat  pallid  and  steady, 
her  little  hands  grasping  each  other  tightly,  her  eyes 
searching  the  group  about  her  for  her  father. 

"  Come  down  from  there,  Onoqua." 

But  the  little  figure  never  stirred,  except  that  the 
eyes  looked  into  the  speaker's.  "  My  Matoska  told 
nie  I  could  go  to  school  away  off  in  the  wagon,"  she 
answered.  And  again  her  eyes  sought  for  Matoska 
who  was  so  faithfully  looking  for  Naumatin. 

Nauinatin  listened  in  a  silence  so  portentous  that 
Mr.  Thurston  drew  nearer.  His  presence  excited  her 
still  further.  With  a  cry  of  rage  she  rushed  forward, 
and  beginning  to  climb  over  the  wheel  of  the  wagon 
like  a  cat,  she  suddenly  drew  from  under  her  shawl 
a  knife,  holding  it  ready  to  plunge  into  Onoqua. 
The  child  sprang  up  and  was  already  on  the  other 
wheel  to  escape,  when  her  mother  caught  her. 

A  hand  as  quick  as  her  own,  and  stronger,  came 
between,  and  Mr.  Thurston  caught  her  away  from 
Onoqua.  But  the  hand  with  the  knife  was  still  free, 
the  knife  which  had  been  meant  for  nothing  more 
serious  than  the  cutting  of  meat  for  cooking,  —  and 
this  she  turned  upon  herself,  crying  that  she  would 
kill  the  child,  that  she  would  die  herself,  rather  than 


NAUMATIN  15 

Onoqua  should  go.  The  group  looked  on  with  no  dis 
position  to  interfere;  if  the  white  man  could  not 
defend  the  children,  he  ought  not  to  have  them.  It 
was  when,  with  the  help  of  his  companion,  Mr.  Thurs- 
ton  had  succeeded  in  getting  her  firmly  in  hand  that 
Matoska  came  out  of  the  house.  In  an  instant  he 
was  beside  her.  He  took  the  knife  from  her  un 
nerved  hand  and  put  it  into  his  belt.  He  bent  over 
Nauinatin,  and  the  authority  that  he  so  seldom  used 
filled  his  face  and  voice  with  something  from  which 
she  shrank. 

"I  have  said  Onoqua  shall  go  to  school."  She 
made  no  answer.  Then  he  turned  to  Mr.  Thurston. 
"  He  says  let  her  go,"  announced  the  interpreter. 

They  did  so.  Naumatin  remained  standing  beside 
Matoska.  In  sullen  rage .  she  watched  them  spring 
into  the  wagon  where  Onoqua  had  already  seated  her 
self  again. 

In  another  moment  they  were  off  at  the  top  of 
their  speed. 

Onoqua  had  gone  to  school. 

This  was  in  the  spring  of  1882. 


16  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  II 
JNOQUA'S  FOOTSI 

As  the  wagon  was  hidden  from  sight  in  the  turn 
ings  of  the  road  the  cry  of  mourning  for  the  lost  rose 
from  the  throats  of  the  Indians  who  had  been  watch 
ing  it.  Their  children  had  gone  for  years,  perhaps 
forever.  Letters  were  to  them  full  of  vagueness, 
mysterious  news  of  the  white  man  which  might  mean 
nothing,  or  might  be  a  part  of  the  deceit  which  they 
had  so  often  met  with  from  him.  The  vacuum  of  a 
departure  which  the  most  philosophical  feel  some 
what,  was  to  them  full  of  apprehension. 

At  the  familiar  sounds  a  man  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  agency  building,  and  by  a  sharp  command  suc 
ceeded  in  enforcing  partial  silence.  The  next  mo 
ment  another  joined  him  and  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  stood  looking  on  half-amused,  half-disdainful, 
and  with  an  occasional  comment.  This  was  the  clerk. 
Presently  he  singled  out  a  boy  of  fourteen  with  his 
eyes  fastened  upon  the  gap  through  which  the  wagon 
had  passed  and  with  a  wistfulness  in  his  face. 

"  You  wish  you'd  gone  with  your  sister,  don't  you, 
Mahaka?"  he  asked.  "But  then,  if  you'd  tried, 


IN  ONOQUA'S  FOOTSTEPS  17 

your  mother  would  have  certainly  been  wild  enough 
to  kill  somebody.  Wait  until  next  time." 

Onoqua's  brother  looked  up  at  him.  "  When  is 
next  time  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  fellow  means  it/7  muttered  the  other  under 
his  breath  to  the  agent.  "  This  carrying  them  off  to 
school  seems  to  have  the  effect  of  a  wedding,  it  starts 
up  more  to  follow.  We  seem  to  be  cleaned  out  now ; 
but  when  they  come  for  the  next  lot,  you'll  see. 
They'll  be  along  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks,"  he 
answered  the  boy.  "But  if  you  want  to  go,  I'd 
advise  you  not  to  say  anything  about  it  at  home ;  the 
knife  may  hit  next  time." 

Shame  and  pride  struggled  in  Mahaka's  face  as  he 
turned  away.  But  he  did  not  go  to  his  tepee;  he 
joined  some  of  the  boys  who  were  going  hunting. 

"  They've  captured  sixteen  out  of  the  twenty-five," 
said  Mr.  Griswald,  the  missionary,  to  his  wife. 
"  They've  left  poor  Thurston  the  toughest  of  the  lot, 
to  be  sure,  the  plucky  little  ones  who  were  resolved  to 
see  what  this  terribje  place  was  which  they  had  been 
so  much  warned  against.  Things  were  not  done  in 
that  high-handed  style  before  that  fellow,  Sebastian, 
came  here.  Anselmo  lets  him  too  much  alone." 

"I  should  be  tempted  to  let  him  alone  if  I  were 


18  OKOQTTA 

Anselmo,"  said  Mrs.  Griswald.  "But  better  in  the 
mission  school  than  on  the  reservation.  I'm  never 
sorry  when  I  hear  that  the  poor  young  things  are 
dead,  if  it's  a  choice  between  death  and  this  life. 
Oh,  don't  mistake  me ;  I'm  not  complaining  for  my 
self,  it's  different  with  me.  But  we've  been  here 
three  years,  and  in  that  time  I've  learned  a  few  things 
in  regard  to  this  Indian  question ;  and  one  fact  comes 
to  me  more  and  more,  and  that  is,  we  can  never  give 
these  Indians  more  than  the  milk  of  the  Gospel  until 
they  get  some  solid  work  to  set  their  teeth  against  to 
prepare  them  for  the  strong  meat." 

"  Meantime  "  —  began  her  husband. 

"Oh,  yes,  meantime,"  she  interrupted  him,  "I'll 
wash  the  dishes  for  an  example  to  those  who  have 
any  dishes." 

As  the  boys  went  on  toward  the  hunting-ground 
Mahaka  said  abruptly,  "  I'll  go  away  to  school  some 
day." 

The  boys  all  turned  to  him  with  interest. 

"  What  is  it  about  this  school  ? "  asked  Taypate. 
"Why  isn't  one  school  just  like  another?  We  have 
a  school  here,  and  we  go  to  it  when  we  don't  go  hunt 
ing,  or  after  horses,  or  on  the  farm,  or  when  we  don't 
want  to  go  to  sleep.  And,  then,  there  is  the  good 


IN  ONOQUA'S  FOOTSTEPS  19 

father's  school.  I  can  have  enough  here.  Going  to 
school  doesn't  help  you  kill  deer.  And  I  hunt  the 
bears.  The  braves  say  I  shall  be  one  of  themselves. 
Do  they  tell  you  about  it  in  the  books,  Mahaka  ?  " 

But  Mahaka  had  never  gone  beyond  his  primer, 
and  if  he  had  no  more  knowledge,  he  had  the  wisdom 
not  to  think  this  sufficient.  He  could  not  tell  what 
was  in  the  books. 

"  When  I  have  killed  my  grizzly  all  myself,  then  I 
shall  be  a  brave,"  said  Xiyo.  "  What  school  will 
teach  me  this  ?  I  stay  in  the  woods ;  they  are  my 
school." 

"  I  like  that  blue  the  Indian  boy  with  the  school 
chief  had  on,"  said  Mahaka.  "Some  day  I  want  to 
wear  clothes  like  that." 

Xiyo  came  up  close  to  him.  "You  don't  know, 
Mahaka,"  he  said.  "  That's  what  the  men  have  on 
when  they  shoot  us  with  their  guns  as  some  day  I 
shall  shoot  the  grizzlies.  No,  I  shall  never  wear  that. 
I'm  a  free  boy,  a  hunter.  I  like  it  best  here  ;  I  shall  , 
stay  here." 

"But  if  you  learn  in  the  books,"  said  Pejito,  "you 
have  some  money  some  time.     White  men  always  do, 
Indians  never  do.     When    Indians   get   any  money,     < 
white  men  get  it  first.     I  shall  study  in  the  book  that  • 


20  ONOQUA 

tells  the  way  they  always  do  that.  Is  it  in  that  great 
book  they  read  to  us  in  the  agency  school  ?  The 
good  father  will  not  let  us  read  in  that,  it  is  too  hard 
for  us,  he  says.  But  in  the  school  far  away  they  do ; 
it  may  be  in  that.  I  shall  see.  I  shall  find  out  about 
many  books  ;  I'll  go  to  school  with  you,  Mahaka.  We 
will  be  there  the  next  time  they  come  for  us." 

"  Yes,"  answered  Mahaka.  Xiyo  was  silent  for  a 
time.  Then  he  said,  "  It  may  be  I  can  do  both.  I'd 
like  to  see  the  strange  things  and  the  new  ways." 

"  They  say,"  began  little  Taypate,  —  but  here  one  of 
the  older  boys  darted  back  to  warn  them  that  they 
had  found  fox-tracks.  Instantly  the  hunter  in  them 
made  everything  else  forgotten. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  months  Matoska  grew  tired 
of  Naumatin's  invincible  sullenness. 

His  absences  became  more  and  more  frequent. 

Finally,  it  came  about  that  he  went  away  and  did 
not  return  to  the  tepee.  He  had  gone  across  to  the 
other  creek  and  married  a  woman  who  was  willing, 
not  only  to  speak  to  him,  but  to  speak  very  kindly. 
He  left  the  children  with  Naumatin,  all  but  Onoqua. 
When  she  came  home  she  was  to  be  his  daughter. 
He  missed  her  very  much ;  but  she  was  a  great  deal 
better  off  than  she  would  have  been  with  him,  and 


nsr  ONOQUA'S  FOOTSTEPS  21 

everybody  loved  her.  He  pondered  a  good  deal  over 
the  fact  that  when  the  Indians  went  to  white  people, 
these  were  always  good  to  them,  and  when  white 
people  came  to  Indians  they  were  often  so  bad.  He 
wondered  if  they  were  bewitched,  as  Indians  some 
times  were  when  they  crossed  a  certain  line  ;  and,  if 
so,  where  that  line  was.  He  should  like  to  rub  it  out. 
As  long  as  he  lived  with  Naumatin  he  told  her  of 
Onoqua's  letters,  he  remembered  all  that  was  in  them 
as  they  were  read  over  to  him.  But  if  she  cared,  she 
would  give  him  no  satisfaction. 

Mahaka  went  away  to  an  Eastern  school,  shortly 
after  Onoqua  had  gone,  but  to  a  different  one ;  for  the 
teachers  who  came  later  picked  up,  not  him  alone,  but 
Pejito,  and  even  Xiyo,  who  made  up  his  mind  that  he 
should  like  to  see  what  the  new  things  were  like. 
And  little  Taypate  was  gathered  in  also,  and  went  to 
find  out  why  there  were  any  other  schools  than  on 
his  reservation.  And  with  these,  among  a  few  other 
girls,  went  Pejito's  sister,  Ahsaniak,  the  daughter  of 
Waha,  the  chief  of  the  tribe.  It  was  owing  to  her 
mother's  influence  that  she  had  gone  to  school,  and  at 
her  mother's  death,  three  years  later,  Waha  sent  for 
her.  At  about  the  same  time  there  straggled  back  a 
few  boys  and  girls  with  a  fair  knowledge  of  English 


22  ONOQTTA 

and  such  instruction  in  the  things  of  civilization  as 
the  ardent  labor  of  their  instructors  could  give  them 
in  their  short  apprenticeship.  They  were  in  that 
transition  state  when  so  much  depends  upon  environ 
ment. 

They  had  reservation  environment  to  the  full. 


AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS  23 


CHAPTEB,  III 
AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS 

THE  October  of  1887. 

The  fresh  wind  had  given  color  to  Ahsaniak's  eager 
face  as  she  went  to  the  door  of  her  log  house  and 
looked  toward  the  hills  where  her  father  had  gone  for 
the  ponies  that  were  to  take  them  to  the  agency. 

It  was  in  the  long  and  bitter  winters  that  these 
angular  ridges  and  snow-covered  summits  were  too 
strong  a  reminder  of  the  harshness  and  the  terrors 
which  made  them  deserve  to  the  full  their  name  of 
Wolf  Mountains. 

Now  these  mountains  still  shone  here  and  there 
with  brighter  foliage  mixed  with  the  brown  of  the 
dying  year.  On  such  a  morning  of  dazzling  sunshine 
all  that  was  left  of  color  in  the  earth  burned  through 
these  purple  mists  of  the  mountains,  glorified  their 
outlines,  and  drove  the  lighter  shadows  from  their 
resting-places. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  house  ran  the  river  in  the 
valley  of  which  many  of  these  Indian  tepees  were 
nestled,  because  here  was  the  arable  land  of  the 
reservation.  On  the  hills  which  formed  the  divide 


24  OtfOQUA 

between  this  stream  and  the  other  river  on  the  reser 
vation,  the  bunch  grass  and  the  blue  joint  and  the 
buffalo  grasses  grew  in  abundance.  But  only  small 
and.  uncertain  crops  rewarded  the  desultory  labor 
given.  Here  was  no  return  without  irrigation. 

Far  on  the  southern  horizon  loomed  the  mountains 
of  the  Big  Horn.  Behind  these  the  winter  sun  rose 
reluctantly  and  dropped  hastily  down  again  long 
before  he  said  farewell  to  more  favored  regions.  And 
the  moon  silvered  their  tops  as  it  rose  above  them 
and  dipped  again  to  glow  over  southern  lands. 

A  very  few  log  houses  could  be  seen.  The  greater 
part  of  the  Indians  clung  to  the  old  life,  and  lived  it 
with  only  such  modifications  as  they  were  compelled 
to  make. 

Ahsaniak  sang  softly  as  she  washed  her  dishes. 
She  had  no  mop,  her  dish-pan  was  too  small,  and  she 
had  so  little  soap  that  all  her  efforts  could  not  make 
her  single  towel  look  as  the  dish-towels  had  looked 
at  school  when  she  used  to  take  them  white  and 
ironed  from  the  drawer. 

"  So,  you're  not  going  to-day,  Ahsaniak  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,"  cried  the  girl,  turning  at  the  voice,  as 
a  squaw  with  a  shawl  over  her  head  came  in.  "I 
must  go  today ;  because  when  the  money  comes,  I'm 


AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS  25 

to  have  a  new  dress.  My  father  has  promised  me  the 
money,  and  Mrs.  Winder  is  to  send  for  the  dress 
when  she  sends  for  her  own  things.  She's  waited  a 
week  for  me.  I  shall  remember  it." 

And  Ahsaniak  smiled  and  dimpled.  She  was  very 
pretty. 

Having  finished  her  dishes,  she  began  to  sweep  her 
floor  with  a  stub  that  was  more  a  suggestion  of  what 
should  be  than  a  broom. 

"  How  long  did  you  stay  at  school  ? "  asked 
Naumatin. 

"Three  years.  Waha  wouldn't  let  me  go  back. 
It  seems  so  long  since  I  came  home." 

"How  long  is  it?" 

"  Two  years  and  three  months."  And  Ahsaniak 
swept  in  a  corner  until  her  eyes  cleared.  "  When  did 
you  hear  from  Onoqua  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Onoqua's  Matoska's  daughter,"  returned  Nau- 
matin  harshly.  "  She  will  not  come  home  all  this 
winter.  She  is  studying  in  the  school  longer.  She 
will  not  come  home  for  another  year.  Then  six  years 
she  has  been  away.  She  has  forgotten  us  all ;  she's 
no  good  to  us  now ;  no  Indian  left  in  her.  Mahaka 
comes  home  at  the  same  time,  and  the  rest  of  them. 
What  will  they  do  here,  Ahsaniak  ?  " 


26  ONOQUA 

Ahsaniak  laughed.     "  Just  as  I  do,"  she  answered. 

Waha  drove  up  with  the  ponies  harnessed  into  a 
heavy  wagon,  the  back  of  which  he  had  piled  full  of 
vegetables.  The  girl  climbed  over  the  side  of  it  with 
as  much  satisfaction  as  if  it  had  been  a  royal  chariot. 

The  miles  to  the  agency,  which  wound  over  the 
hills  and  across  the  river  beyond  them,  were  passed  at 
last.  Ahsaniak,  talking  and  laughing,  had  assured 
her  father  that  he  would  have  only  a  small  bill  to  pay 
at  the  store  that  month,  she  had  been  so  very  careful. 

As  Waha  joined  the  group  around  the  door  of  the 
office  she  sat  holding  with  a  firm  hand  the  restless 
ponies  while  the  young  men  talked  and  laughed  with 
her.  She  had  too  bright  smiles  for  them  to  forget  her. 

"  We  get  a  pile  of  money  this  time,  Ahsaniak," 
said  one  of  them,  showing  a  faultless  set  of  teeth. 

"  That  isn't  so,"  corrected  Pejito,  who  had  come 
home  from  school  the  year  after  Ahsaniak.  They 
think  too  much  of  our  money  to  give  it  to  us  to 
spend;  they  take  care  of  it  for  us.  They  put  it  on 
interest,  and  then  they  vote  it  out  to  us  every  year. 
They  don't  let  us  come  home  from  school  for  our 
vacation  for  long  after  the  school  is  over,  and  they 
don't  have  to  make  the  money  for  us,  anyway. 
our  own  money." 


27 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Howaxte.  But  as  he  spoke, 
he  laughed  with  a  mind  at  ease  from  any  perplexing 
anxieties  as  to  how  the  money  was  to  come,  and  why 
it  did  not  come  sooner,  and  why  it  was  not  a  larger  sum. 

But  all  the  while  Ahsaniak  was  watching  her  father. 

At  last  she  saw  him  go  into  the  house. 

It  was  a  long,  low  building  in  the  ugliest  style  of 
architecture,  and  not  in  any  style  of  repair.  The 
well-worn  paint  of  the  doors  was  blackened  by  the 
touch  of  innumerable  hands.  The  small  panes  of 
the  little  windows  showed  the  landscape  through 
their  flawed  glass  like  distorted  views  of  life  through 
the  flaws  of  prejudice  and  passion. 

In  the  outer  of  the  three  rooms  which  made  up  the 
house  sat  the  agent  with  his  clerk,  in  the  opposite 
outer  room  goods  of  all  kinds  were  stored,  and  in  the 
middle  room  was  the  agency  store.  It  was  in  this 
middle  room  that,  two  hours  before,  the  trader  had 
turned  to  his  clerk  with,  — 

« All  ready,  Bob?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Get  it  through  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Let  me  alone  for  that."  After  a  silence  in  which 
each  was  busy  with  his  own  work,  the  clerk  added, 
"  Winder  made  a  thorough  job  of  it  last  night." 


28  ONOQUA 

He  laughed,  and  Hines  joined  in. 

"  Did  it  up  brown.  Oh,  he  was  put  up  to  it,  New 
man.  That  fellow  here  a  while  ago  insinuated  all 
sorts  of  things ;  he  made  the  agent  nervous.  But,  on 
the  whole,  it's  done  us  no  harm.  For  instance,  what 
does  Winder  know  of  the  price  of  molasses  except  as 
we  tell  him  ?  But,  as  he  has  to  buy  it  himself  as 
well  as  the  other  provisions,  why,  we  certainly  don't 
make  a  big  profit  on  these  things,  hey  ?  " 

"Not  we." 

"  And  he  knows  without  our  telling  him  that  an  In 
dian  can't  tell  the  difference  between  a  gill  and  a  gal 
lon  when  it's  written  down  on  the  books.  And  if  he 
did,  what's  a  man's  memory  against  black  and  white  ? 
But,  see,  they're  beginning  to  come  at  last.  I  suppose 
they'll  be  at  it  all  day.  However,  if  I  had  only  one 
piece  of  business  a  month,  I'd  string  it  out." 

By  the  arrangement  of  the  building,  the  Indians 
who  went  in  at  the  office  door  did  not  go  out  that 
same  way,  but  passed  through  the  store  and  out 
again  through  the  third  room  opposite  the  office.  No 
one  thought  of  resisting  this  arrangement  which  sent 
them  into  the  trader's  hands  with  their  money  from 
the  agent  still  unpocketed.  For  if  the  Indians  were 
reluctant  to  earn,  they  were  willing  to  pay.  Not  to 


AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS  29 

do  this  was  quite  out  of  their  comprehension.  So,  the 
long  file  which  throughout  the  day  straggled  up  to 
the  agent's  desk  turned  from  here  to  the  store.  In 
the  office  talking  and  laughing  went  on,  though  not 
boisterously.  But  in  the  store  the  hush  of  uncertainty 
fell  upon  them  and  the  voices  that  were  heard  at  all 
were  in  a  different  key. 

Waha,  after  waiting  his  turn  at  the  office,  fell  into 
line  and  walked  on  with  the  rest.  Here  he  found  a 
dozen  men  and  women  with  faces  of  dissatisfaction. 
There  was  no  loudness  in  the  crowd,  unless  it  was 
the  clerk's  incisive  voice  as  he  read  off  the  indebted 
ness  of  each  one.  A  woman  ventured  to  remonstrate. 
She  was  sure  she  had  not  owed  so  much  as  twenty 
dollars ;  he  must  be  looking  at  the  wrong  place. 

"Look  yourself,  then,"  cried  Newman,  thrusting 
the  ledger  into  her  face.  The  woman  never  looked 
at  it ;  what  would  it  have  told  her  ?  But  she  gave 
him  one  long,  steady  glance,  the  sort  of  gaze  a  man 
would  not  want  to  remember  when  he  was  dying,  and 
handed  him  the  money  he  demanded,  and  passed  out. 
As  she  went  by  them  two  men  turned  and  looked 
after  her. 

"  Sopee's  husband  is  sick ;  she  wanted  the  money  for 
him,"  said  the  elder,  and  threw  a  glance  at  the  trader. 


30  ONOQUA 

But  Mines  neither  saw  nor  would  have  understood  ; 
he  was  busy  watching  a  new  arrival.  He  turned  at 
last,  a  movement  which  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  a  young  girl.  "  Cenee,"  he  asked,  "  is  your 
brother  better  ?  " 

Cenee  answered  that  he  was,  and  passed  on.  She, 
too,  had  not  known  that  she  owed  so  much  here. 

Waha  was  behind  her.  He  came  forward  next  and 
asked  what  he  owed.  Ahsaniak's  assurances  of  her 
prudence  were  fresh  in  his  mind ;  but  that  great 
book  on  the  clerk's  desk  seemed  to  obscure  all  faith 
and  contradict  all  assurances.  What  did  he  owe  ? 
Newman  looked  up  briskly  and  named  the  amount 
after  a  moment's  search.  Waha  stood  motionless  for 
a  few  moments,  breathing  hard,  and  holding  the 
money  tightly  in  his  hand.  Then,  one  by  one,  with 
out  a  word,  he  passed  the  bills  over  to  Hines  who 
stuffed  them  into  his  bursting  wallet.  And  still  with 
out  a  word  Waha  went  out. 

Ahsaniak  saw  her  father's  shadow  and  the  merry 
words  that  she  was  saying  to  Kasde  ceased  suddenly 
as  she  turned  to  the  new  comer.  But  her  dimples 
were  deeper  than  ever  as  she  made  way  for  him  to  get 
into  the  wagon  beside  her.  Waha  nodded  to  Kasde 
as  they  drove  off ;  but  he  had  not  yet  spoken  when 


AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS  31 

Ahsaniak  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  "  But 
we  are  going  to  the  house  first/'  she  said.  "  I'm  going 
to  give  Mrs.  Winder  the  money  for  my  dress  to-day. 
You  forget,  father." 

"  No,  I  don't  forget,  Ahsaniak,"  he  answered  her, 
looking  straight  before  him.  "  We  don't  go  to  the 
house ;  we  go  home  ;  that's  the  only  place  for  us." 

The  girl  choked  back  the  sudden  tears.  "  And  you 
won't  give  me  the  money,  father  ?  "  she  asked,  seeing 
that  something  had  happened  and  striving  in  the 
dark  to  discover  what  it  was. 

Then  Waha  turned  upon  her. 

But  his  fierceness  was  not  for  the  child  by  his  side. 
"  They  have  taken  it  all,  Ahsaniak.  I  have  not  one 
dollar  left.  I  guess  you  bought  more  than  you 
knew." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  hearer  vehemently,  "  I  did  not. 

• 

They're  cheating  you,  father.  Let's  go  back  and 
get  the  money;  it's  a  mistake.  I  will  tell  them. 
Let  me  go  back." 

"  That  mistake  they  make  every  time.  It's  no  use 
to  go  back.  You  can  never  get  money  out  of  a  white 
man's  hand ;  they  will  laugh  at  you  and  be  rude  to 
you.  No,  Ahsaniak,  there  is  nothing  for  us  to  do  but 
to  go  home.  There  is  nothing  yet,"  he  added  in  an 


32  ONOQUA 

undertone.  "  But  some  day  some  one  will  work  for 
us.  It  will  not  be  like  this  always.  The  white  man 
tells  us  one  religion  and  he  shows  us  another.  We 
like  what  he  says  better  than  what  he  does ;  we 
choose  this." 

"Can  you  get  me  back  my  money?"  asked  the 
girl. 

Waha  shook  his  head  silently  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Ahsaniak  drew  down  her  hat  over  her  eyes  and 
pulled  up  her  shawl  until  her  face  was  well  muffled. 
And  on  the  homeward  drive  she  spoke  not  another 
word.  As  she  drove  on  with  her  head  bent  she 
looked  more  like  an  Indian  than  she  had  done  since, 
years  ago,  a  little  girl,  she  had  gone  away  to  school. 

Mrs.  Winder  hearing  of  this  misfortune  assailed 
her  husband  indignantly.  She  knew  that  these 
Indians  were  cheated.  She  should  be  glad  to  have  a 
chance  to  prove  it.  She  wished  he  would  let  her  try. 

"My  dear,"  he  returned,  "you  are  mistaken.  I 
went  over  those  accounts  yesterday  ;  arid  Waha's  was 
one  that  I  remember.  It's  all  right.  Those  people 
don't  know  what  they  are  getting,  nor  what  money 
means.  I'm  sorry  for  the  girl  if  she  can't  have  her 
finery ;  but  I  suppose  that's  common  enough  among 
women.  You  know  how  to  sympathize  with  her. 


AHSANIAK'S  EXPECTATIONS  33 

But  one  thing  I  tell  you,  Annie,  you  mustn't  inter 
fere." 

And  the  most  indulgent  husband  went  off  smiling 
at  his  wife's  tender-heartedness,  and  liking  her  none 
the  less  for  the  indignation  that  had  overswept  him 
for  lack  of  its  legitimate  object.  There  were  so  many 
difficult  things  in  Indian  affairs,  that  a  girl's  new 
dress  was  too  much  of  a  trifle. 


34  ONOQITA 


CHAPTER   IV 

NO    HOPE 

WHEN  Ahsaniak  reached  home  her  father  came 
into  the  house  with  her,  having  found  one  of  his  sons 
to  take  care  of  the  horses.  She  occupied  herself  with 
getting  the  meal  for  him  and  for  Pejito  who  soon 
followed.  They  talked  earnestly  together  and 
Pejito  was  telling  his  father  something  of  interest  to 
him.  But  the  girl  did  not  hear  enough  to  comprehend 
whom  he  meant  by  the  stranger  that  Waha  heard  of 
so  eagerly.  She  was  dumb  with  the  prospect  before 
her.  She  must  be  alone. 

Haneeyet  looked  in  as  she  went  by  to  ask  if 
Ahsaniak  was  going  to  the  festival  the  next  day; 
everybody  was  going.  She  should  like  to  go  with 
her  if  Ahsaniak  meant  to  go.  Ahsaniak  with  her 
eyes  on  the  ground  answered  that  she  did  not  know  ; 
she  did  not  think  she  would  go.  And  Haneeyet 
who  had  never  been  to  school  and  whose  liking  for 
Ahsaniak  was  largely  mingled  with  admiration  and 
spiced  with  fear,  withdrew  with  a  suspicion  that  she 
would  not  be  welcome  even  if  Ahsaniak  went,  she 


NO  HOPE  35 

who  wore  the  Indian  dress  and  did  not  know  a  word 
of  English. 

Was  it  one  gown  or  another,  simply,  the  not  having 
a  new  gown  that  she  had  longed  for  which  distressed 
Ahsaniak  ?  No ;  but  it  was  what  this  lack  signified  to 
her.  She  was  a  girl  who  fell  in  with  things  rather 
than  led  them.  It  was  a  tribute  to  the  power  of  the 
influence  to  which  she  had  been  subjected  that,  for  all 
these  two  years,  she  had  kept  on  doing  as  far  as  she 
could  the  domestic  duties  that  she  had  learned  at 
school.  She  still  wore  the  school  dress,  and  the 
associations  with  it  were  so  many  that  in  it  she  felt 
like  the  school  girl  who  had  come  home  to  keep  up 
the  ways  of  white  people. 

But  now  this  support  was  to  be  taken  from  her. 
For  this  was  what  to-day  meant  to  her.  Her  dress 
was  worn  out ;  she  had  no  other ;  she  had  only  the 
Indian  dress  which,  until  this  hour,  she  had  refused  to 
put  on  in  spite  of  laughter,  and  even  threats.  All 
this  time  she  had  resisted  and  hoped.  The  toils  had 
seemed  to  close  about  her ;  yet  she  had  thought  that 
she  could  keep  her  own  ways.  Soon  Onoqua  would 
come  home ;  she  would  help ;  she  had  not  gone  to 
Ahsaniak's  school,  but  she  had  been  taught  in  the 
same  way  ;  and  when  she  came  home  things  would  go 


36  ONOQUA 

better  with  the  girl  who  had  had  to  fight  her  battle  so 
much  alone. 

But  Onoqua  was  not  coming  home  at  present.  She 
was  at  school  having  a  good  time,  happy  and  well 
clad,  dressed  like  white  people.  To  Ahsaniak  the 
putting  on  of  her  Indian  dress  seemed  an  open  con 
fession  of  failure ;  it  was  leaving  all  the  past,  it  was 
being  like  the  rest.  If  she  did  this,  what  had  she  to 
keep  the  other  life  in  her  heart  ? 

The  firelight  quivering  over  the  little  room  only  lit 
up  the  desolation,  and  its  shadows  only  intensified 
the  darkness  of  these  empty  corners. 

Ahsaniak's  eyes  followed  these  lights  and  shadows. 
No  girl  reared  in  luxury  from  infancy  ever  had  a 
keener  sense  of  beauty,  a  greater  delight  in  it,  than 
had  this  little  waif  from  that  civilization,  the  out 
ward  forms  of  which  she  had  caught  at  so  readily. 
She  had  not  learned  subtle  distinctions  in  three  years. 
What  she  saw  was  a  part  of  her  faith ;  to  her  civiliza 
tion  meant  wearing  a  civilized  dress  which  necessi 
tated  certain  differences  of  living ;  and  wearing  the 
Indian  dress  meant  Indian  living.  If  in  that  hour  there 
had  been  something  of  the  past  around  her  to  which  to 
hold,  a  picture  on  the  wall,  a  book,  a  magazine,  a  news 
paper,  any  link  to  the  old  life,  it  would  have  made  an 


NO  HOPE  37 

immeasurable  difference  to  Ahsaniak.  She  wanted 
brightness,  joy;  she  liked  the  white  man's  way. 
But  she  was  an  Indian.  Indians  never  had  money ; 
they  only  owned  it.  This  was  what  Pejito  had  said 
many  a  time. 

She  thought  of  one  day  at  school  when  the  girls 
and  the  boys  and  the  teachers  had  praised  her  for  her 
tasteful  Christmas  decorations.  She  had  been  so 
happy.  Life  had  had  so  many  pleasant  things  then. 

All  these  things  had  gone  forever. 

But  it  was  more  than  a  question  of  pleasures  ;  for, 
all  that  she  could  see  before  her  was  the  renunciation  of 
the  life  to  which  she  had  clung.  She  had  cried  until 
she  had  no  more  tears,  and  sat  gazing  with  heavy 
eyes  into  the  fire  which  gave  her  little  heat  and  still 
less  consolation.  For,  instead  of  the  cheerfulness 
which  should  have  lurked  in  its  bright  flashes  and 
glowing  coals,  she  saw  the  poverty  and  misery  about 
her,  and,  in  contrast,  bright  pictures  of  the  days  in 
which  she  had  been  so  proud  of  growing  civilized. 
Between  her  savage  inheritance  of  centuries  and  her 
semi-savage  surroundings  of  to-day,  there  stretched 
three  years  of  the  things  that  she  liked  and  wanted, 
but  had  no  power  to  get  for  herself,  —  these  things 
which  she  must  go  on  without  forever.  If  she  had 


38  ONOQUA 

never  known  them  !  How  she  wished  that  she  never 
had. 

There  was  only  one  thing  left,  — to  forget  them. 

There  were  no  dimples  about  the  young  mouth 
now.  The  eyes  were  sombre. 

It  was  a  lo/ng  time  before  the  young  head  drooped 
and  Ahsaniak  leaned  against  the  wall  asleep. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  agency  store  with  bolted  shutters 
two  men  sat  making  up  their  accounts  and  going  over 
their  gains.  They  talked  in  low  tones  and  with  sub 
dued  laughter.  And,  as  they  divided  the  money 
according  to  prearrangement,  and  each  pocketed  his 
share,  neither  saw  in  it  the  betrayal  of  innocent 
blood ;  both  chuckled  over  their  good  bargains. 

Ahsaniak's  father  opened  his  own  door  softly  and 
looked  in.  The  cold  air  did  not  arouse  the  girl  from 
her  sleep  of  weariness  and  grief.  He  drew  back  an 
instant  and  beckoned  to  some  one  without;  and 
another  figure  followed  him  into  the  house  and  stood 
for  a  moment  at  the  hearth  silent.  Waha  brought 
in  more  wood  and  threw  it  on  the  fire  and  the  two 
men  sat  and  talked  softly,  with  occasional  glances 
at  the  sleeping  girl.  The  stranger  was  a  young 
man,  wild  in  his  dress,  and  with  sudden  and  rapid 
gestures  as  he  talked.  Waha  listened  to  him  with 


NO  HOPE  3d 

the  utmost  attention  and  his  look  at  the  speaker 
was  one  of  admiration  and  almost  awe. 

"  And  can  you  tell  the  time  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 
"  Did  he  say  this  to  you  ?  "  The  answer  was  full  of 
mystical  indefiniteness.  But  Waha  found  in  it  a 
meaning  that  filled  him  with  delight. 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  again,  and  Pejito 
came  in  bringing  Kasde  with  him.  This  movement, 
and  the  sense  of  presence,  roused  Ahsaniak.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  after  a  glance  at  the  others, 
fixed  her  gaze  upon  the  stranger.  Then  she  turned 
to  her  father  with  the  bewilderment  of  sudden  wak 
ing  still  upon  her. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  He  comes  from  the  north,"  returned  Waha,  "  and 
he  is  always  welcome.  He  brings  us  good  news." 

"What  news  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  with  a  sudden  thrill 
of  hope  of  she  knew  not  what. 

"News  too  great  for  children,"  answered  her 
father.  "  When  it  is  time  you  will  know  it." 

"  Is  it  news  about  getting  the  money  back  from 
the  man  ? "  questioned  Ahsaniak  with  quickened 
breath. 

"  I  told  you  you  could  never  do  that."  And  Waha 
frowned  at  his  daughter. 


40  ONOQTJA 

Kasde  drew  near  cautiously.  "You  will  go  to 
morrow,  Ahsaniak  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  her  with 
admiration. 

And  Ahsaniak  looked  at  him.  Her  face  relaxed, 
and  she  smiled. 

After  all,  there  was  a  way  to  be  happy ;  or,  if  not 
quite  happy,  to  have  a  good  time. 


CETANGI  41 


CHAPTER  V 

CETANGI 

IT  was  a  brilliant  assembly  that  Cetangi  stood 
looking  down  upon  that  cloudless  day  of  the  May 
following  Ahsaniak's  trial.  And  that  he  should  be 
standing  there  before  this  audience  taken  from 
among  the  most  cultivated  and  the  most  liberal- 
hearted  people  in  the  land,  with  something  of  his 
own  writing  in  his  hand  to  read  to  them,  was  a  strik 
ing  phase  in  that  problem  which  is  laying  bare  to 
the  world  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  the 
forces  upon  which  we  pride  ourselves.  We,  Ameri 
cans,  have  rejoiced  in  our  freedom  ;  we  have  sent  our 
missions  around  the  world.  But  here  in  our  own 
splendid  portals  crouch  gruesome  beings,  their 
presence  and  their  need  reproaching  us  until  the 
blessing  of  our  own  act  shall  transform  the  loath 
someness  into  a  strength  and  beauty  for  us.  For  as  Sir 
Launfal  in  his  "  Vision,"  after  long  and  weary  search, 
found  the  Holy  Grail  only  in  the  food  and  drink  he 
shared,  so  shall  we  find  that  the  food  which  will 
transform  is  that  food  alone  which  we  share. 


42  ONOQUA 

Cetangi  standing  on  the  rostrum,  had  a  distinct 
perception  that  there  was  something  peculiar  in  his 
situation ;  and  with  that  instinct  for  the  dramatic  so 
keen  in  his  race,  enjoyed  it  to  the  full.  But  he  need 
not  have  been  an  Indian  student  with  his  essay  to 
read  before  such  hearers  to  have  felt  a  thrill  of  pride 
and  a  tremor  of  anxiety  as  to  how  he  should  acquit 
himself.  Many  a  white  boy  would  have  rejoiced  in 
his  vantage  ground.  Here,  in  the  broad  arena  of  a 
common  tongue  and  a  common  knowledge,  he  was 
to  run  his  tilt  against  the  enemy  and  win  his 
laurels.  But  he  smiled  at  the  thought  of  the  tom 
ahawk.  This  was  fading  out  of  sight  with  the 
savage  ancestors  who  had  sworn  eternal  enmity  to 
the  white  man. 

All  that  he  saw  of  the  past  now  were  the  friends 
of  his  own  home.  He  pictured  them  as  he  should 
tell  them  of  this  scene. 

And  he  was  no  solitary  exception.  Beside  him 
upon  the  platform  were  numbers  of  his  race,  and 
behind  these  in  the  distance  thousands  more.  In 
this  new  work  of  the  brain  they  were  to  put  them 
selves  into  friendly  rivalry  with  the  white  race  with 
whom  by  favor  now  they  stood  for  a  time  shoulder 
to  shoulder. 


CETANGI  43 

His  was  not  the  age,  nor  that  the  moment  to  doubt 
the  issue. 

And  Cetangi  standing  there  with  the  dignitaries 
of  the  nation  and  the  high  social  powers  listening  to 
him  gave  utterance  to  thoughts  that  showed  that  he 
had  begun  to  appreciate  the  life  and  work  around 
him.  As  he  finished  his  thesis  and  bowed  his  ac 
knowledgment  of  the  plaudits  received,  he  seemed 
to  see  the  pleased  faces  of  his  friends  ;  and  there 
came  before  him  a  picture  of  the  savage  ancestors, 
more  than  a  generation  removed  in  his  case,  who  had 
sworn  enmity  to  the  pale-faces,  and  had  kept  their 
vows.  But  these  were  fading  into  eternal  dimness ; 
for  the  old  had  gone. 

Yes ;  the  old  had  gone.  The  new  was  to  come. 
He  belonged  to  neither.  But  to-day  he  did  not 
perceive  this  ;  his  feet  trod  easily  on  air.  It  seemed 
like  passing  over  a  space  to  think  of  his  people. 
It  was  in  connection  with  this  present  life  that 
there  was  no  sense  of  distance.  What  he  had 
learned,  what  he  could  do,  was  recognized  in  this 
assembly.  And,  if  here,  then  this  would  be  true 
anywhere. 

With  eyes  shining,  lips  smiling,  heart  beating 
with  proud  happiness,  he  took  his  seat  again. 


44  ONOQUA 

The  next  speaker  came  forward.  This  was  Ma- 
haka,  Onoqua's  brother.  He  acquitted  himself  well, 
although  not  as  Cetangi  had  done.  Then  came  for 
ward  a  girl  from  a  reservation  far  from  Cetangi's. 
And  after  her,  others. 

In  the  audience  fans  waved  and  the  soft  air  sweep 
ing  in  from  the  open  windows  and  doors  brought 
with  it  the  perfume  of  the  roses  bursting  into  bloom 
and  the  fragrance  of  the  clover  fields  beyond.  Eyes 
brightened  and  moistened  as  stronger  and  stronger 
grew  the  evidence  that  the  nation's  neglect  and  broken 
pledges,  and  not  the  Indian's  inability,  had  kept  these 
children  from  their  birthright  of  Americans. 

In  the  enthusiasm  of  the  hour  rights  became  clear 
and  wrongs  abhorred  and  abjured ;  and  the  power  of 
these  young  people,  and  the  work  opening  before 
them  were  painted  in  vivid  colors  against  the  dark 
background  of  former  ignorance. 

The  speeches  had  all  been  made,  the  music  by  the 
Indian  band  applauded  to  the  echo,  the  adieus  given, 
the  day  was  over,  and  another  set  of  Indian  youth 
was  ready  to  go  forth  upon  its  life  work.  On  every 
hand  smiles  greeted  the  group.  No,  there  was  one 
exception.  An  old  man  stood  looking  on  with  a 
frown.  Suddenly,  he  muttered  to  the  man  at  his  el- 


CETANGI  45 

bow,  "  And  so  these  are  the  Hercules  whom  we  set  to 
clean  these  Augean  stables,  the  reservations,  that  we 
can't  do  anything  with  ourselves." 

"  What  does  he  mean,  the  old  cynic  ?  "  questioned 
a  fair  girl  who  had  overheard  him.  "  Whom  is  he 
talking  about?" 

It  was  late  one  afternoon  in  July.  The  tepees  and 
the  log  houses  on  the  banks  of  the  stream  were  emp 
tied  of  their  inmates  who  lay  on  the  grass  in  the 
shade,  the  men  smoking  their  pipes,  the  women  with 
occasionally  outstretched  hands  as  some  child  was 
about  to  roll  down  from  its  place  at  the  mother's  side. 
Parties  strolled  up  and  down  the  bank.  But  with  the 
thermometer  in  the  nineties,  motion  was  not  an  en 
joyment  to  the  greater  part  of  them. 

Ahsaniak  came  down  the  path  toward  Haneeyet's 
tepee.  Kasde  was  beside  her  and  she  was  talking 
and  laughing  merrily.  Ahsaniak  had  never  laughed 
and  talked  so  much  as  since  she  had  become  thor 
oughly  an  Indian  girl ;  and  this  was  from  the  day 
after  she  had  been  obliged  to  give  up  her  expected 
dress.  She  had  put  on  her  Indian  dress  and  gone  to 
the  festival.  The  child  had  really  had  no  other  which 
was  not  too  ragged.  But  in  putting  this  on  a  certain 


46  ONOQUA 

hardness  and  a  new  boldness  had  coine  upon  her. 
She  not  only  had  cast  the  past  behind  her,  but  she 
seemed  never  to  glance  back  at  it.  The  old  look  of 
regret  that  sometimes  had  saddened  and  softened  her 
face  was  never  seen  there  now.  Her  reputation  for 
brightness  of  wit  had  grown.  But  Howaxte  often 
watched  her  with  silent  pain.  Howaxte,  however, 
was  fond  of  Ahsaniak,  and  she  cared  only  for  Kasde 
who  was  thoroughly  Indian,  who  knew  nothing  about 
school  and  cared  less.  That  afternoon  as  she  saun 
tered  down  the  path  another  figure  came  toward  her, 
not  seen  until  a  sudden  turn  of  the  way  showed  it 
quite  near.. 

At  the  sight  Ahsaniak  came  to  a  sudden  halt. 
Her  eyes  dilated,  her  breath  came  hurriedly ;  for  an 
instant  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  about  to  turn  back  ; 
then  her  lips  set,  the  hardness  deepened  in  her  face, 
the  smile  returned.  With  steady  pace  she  went  for 
ward  to  meet  Onoqua  whom  she  had  not  seen  since 
her  return  the  week  before. 

Onoqua  came  on  with  outstretched  hand;  and  as 
she  clasped  Ahsaniak's  was  about  to  kiss  her  early 
playmate.  But  the  girl  drew  back. 

"  You've  got  home  at  last,  Onoqua/'  she  said. 
"  You'll  find  it  dull  here.  We  only  do  things  you 


CETANGI  47 

won't  want  to  do.  I  don't  know  how  you'll  get 
on." 

"  I  am  among  my  own  again,  Ahsaniak,"  returned 
the  new-comer,  looking  with  a  smile  into  the  other's 
eyes. 

But  Ahsaniak  did  not  meet  her  gaze.  She  was 
studying  every  detail  of  Onoqua's  attire,  from  the 
tasteful  and  very  becoming  hat,  the  white  cambric 
gown  with  red  dots  which  was  so  simply  and  prettily 
made,  to  the  neat  boots.  The  band  of  soft  white 
around  the  throat  and  the  little  red  bow  at  the  neck, 
and  the  red  belt,  did  not  escape  her,  nor  the  shining 
of  Onoqua's  dark  hair,  nor  the  sunshine  in  her  face ; 
everything  commended  itself  to  the  gazer's  esthetic 
tastes  and  womanly  desires. 

Her  eyes  turned  coldly  to  the  other's  face  and  she 
said,  "  You  and  I  have  got  new  mothers  since  I  saw 
you  the  last  time." 

Onoqua's  eyes  fell.  She  had  been  wounded  in  the 
sensitive  part  of  her  home  life  and  she  saw  that  this 
thing  had  been  intentional.  She  made  no  answer  for 
the  moment ;  then  she  said,  "  I'm  very  sorry  for  your 
loss,  Ahsaniak." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl.  Then  she  added,  "  I  see  Hanee- 
yet  coming.  I  must  speak  to  her,  I  will  see  you 


48  ONOQUA 

soon,  Onoqua.  I  will  come  and  see  you."  But  it  was 
her  pride,  not  her  will,  that  spoke.  The  other  should 
not  think  Ahsaniak  avoided  her  as  if  she  were  too 
good  for  a  genuine  Indian  girl.  She  would  be  the 
same  herself  as  soon  as  her  clothes  wore  out  and  she 
went  back  to  the  dress  that  belonged  to  her  tribe. 

Onoqua  looked  after  her.  "  Poor  Ahsaniak  !  "  she 
said  to  herself.  "  She's  forgotten  everything." 

It  was  one  hot  morning  in  the  latter  part  of  Au 
gust  that  Mahaka  came  into  the  house  which  Matoska 
had  built,  and  rough  as  it  was,  it  was  better  than  the 
tepee  which  it  replaced.  Already,  Onoqua  had  put 
into  it  a  few  touches  of  embellishment.  But  she  had 
very  little ;  and  then,  the  house  was  not  hers,  the 
new  wife  was  here,  and  children,  two  boys,  and  a  girl 
two  years  old,  whom  Matoska  had  introduced  to  her 
as  brothers  and  sister. 

"  Onoqua,"  cried  Mahaka,  "  look  here.  Head  this." 
And  he  put  a  letter  into  her  hands.  "  It's  from  Ce- 
tangi ;  he's  coming  to  see  me.  But  read  it  and  see 
what's  the  matter  with  him.  I  can't  make  it  out." 

And  he  stood  patiently  waiting  until  Onoqua  had 
finished  the  long  epistle. 

She  made  a  pretty  picture  as  she  stood  there  lean- 


CETANGI  49 

ing  against  the  door-post,  the  soft  wind  blowing  her 
hair  about  her  face,  and  toning  the  flush  in  her  cheeks 
that  had  come  from  bending  over  her  cooking,  for 
she  was  trying  to  teach  her  step-mother  some  new 
ways  of  doing  things,  that  is,  she  had  begun  with  this 
intention ;  but  no  sooner  had  Tahnas  been  well  started 
than  she  had  wearied  of  the  instructions  and  gone 
off  to  a  neighboring  tepee,  leaving  the  girl  to  cook  at 
her  own  pleasure  which,  although  no  doubt  the  viands 
gained  by  it,  had  defeated  her  object.  Her  step 
mother  did  not  care  to  learn,  and  if  she  had  would 
have  resented  the  teaching  of  Onoqua  with  her  fine 
ways. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  inquired  Mahaka 
when  his  sister  looked  up  from  the  letter. 

"  He's  unhappy.  He  can't  find  what  he  wants  to 
do.  I  hope  he  will  come  here.  Perhaps  we  can  show 
him  what  his  work  among  his  people  is."  And  hand 
ing  back  the  paper,  she  added,  "  Is  he  the  one  that  is 
so  bright  ?  I)oes  he  know  a  great  deal,  Mahaka  ?  " 

"  More  than  all  the  rest  of  us  put  together,"  he 
answered. 


50  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    STUMBLING   STONE 

"DiD  you  go  to  church  this  morning?"  And  the 
trader,  drawing  up  his  foot  and  nursing  his  knee,  set 
tled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair  which  was  on 
the  piazza  of  his  house,  and  turned  his  face  toward 
his  companion. 

Newman  brought  back  his  eyes  from  the  rugged 
outlines  of  the  hills  as  these  shone  out  in  golden 
light  against  the  great  disk  of  the  sun  which  hung 
poised  ready  to  drop  down  behind  them.  "Not 
much,"  he  laughed.  "  Time's  too  precious  to  waste  in 
hearing  old  Griswald's  prosing." 

"  But  you  missed  something  today.  We  had  a  ser 
mon  about  Moses." 

"  I've  heard  of  Moses  before,"  retorted  Newman. 

"Ah,  but  you  never  heard  of  him  this  way.  He 
came  out  in  quite  a  new  character  this  morning.  Now, 
you  know,  we  have  always  thought  of  Moses  as  a 
venerable  and  very  wise  and  learned  man,  quite  up  to 
all  the  little  devices  of  the  Egyptians,  indeed,  ahead 
of  them  every  time ;  a  man  who  needed  all  his  wisdom 


THE   STUMBLING   STONE  51 

and  experience  to  bring  the  Israelites  out  of  their 
house  of  bondage.  But  it  seems  these  things  were 
not  necessary  at  all.  There  are  any  number  of  Moseses 
now-a-days,  young  fellows  just  out  of  their  teens 
and  knowing  nothing  more  than  perhaps  a  little  Eng 
lish.  These  are  up  to  affairs  at  this  stage  of  the 
world ;  we've  come  to  appreciate  youth.  And  as  for 
wisdom,  —  much  study  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh. 
We'll  do  very  well  without  it." 

"  What  are  you  driving  at  ?  "  cried  the  other,  turn 
ing  upon  him  sharply.  "  What's  up  now  ?  " 

"Why,  I've  just  told  you  what's  up,  —  the  young 
men  are  up.  The  Israelites  were  in  a  reservation,  the 
Indians  are  in  a  reservation.  Moses,  the  aged  and 
learned,  led  out  the  first;  therefore  the  Moseses, 
young  and  unlearned,  should  lead  out  the  second. 
The  first  coming  out  was  a  journey  on  foot,  an  actual 
exodus ;  this  coming  is  to  be  the  departure  from  bar 
barism.  The  comparison  was  carried  on  step  by  step ; 
it  was  just  as  I've  given  it,  only  there  wasn't  any 
thing  said  about  the  difference  in  age ;  experience 
and  wisdom  didn't  get  a  showing."  He  stretched 
himself  and  went  on,  "  If  we're  the  Egyptians,  how 
ler,  we  needn't  have  any  fear  of  the  Red  Sea  yet 
awhile." 


52  ONOQTJA 

"  Not  much/'  laughed  the  listener. 

"Caisson  was  delighted,"  said  Hines.  "I  heard 
him  talking  to  Griswald.  I  didn't  observe  to  him  that 
if  Moses  had  spent  his  life  in  Goshen  it  would  have 
been  a  long  time  before  he  would  have  been  able  to 
defeat  the  Egyptian  magicians." 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

Hines  laughed.  "  You  never  heard  the  old  proverb 
about  not  quarrelling  with  one's  bread  and  butter, 
hey,  Newman  ?  " 

"  Yes.     But  I  don't  understand  you." 

The  other  surveyed  him  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then  with  a  short  laugh,  he  said,  "  Well,  do  we  want 
greater  wisdom  here  than  that  of  the  Egyptians,  taking 
us  to  be  the  Egyptians  ?  No,  Newman,  there  is  a  cer 
tain  astuteness  about  the  Indian  race  that  must  be 
kept  under.  If  we  ever  give  these  young  fellows  a 
fair  chance,  they'll  catch  on.  Then  our  day  is  over. 
Then  good-by  to  the  whole  agency  business,  and  the 
patronage  that  helps  to  build  up  the  bulwarks  of  party. 
No,  no,  we'll  take  care  of  this.  I  tell  you  where  the 
danger  lies,  Newman.  It's  in  letting  these  fellows 
see  how  we  do  it ;  it  wouldn't  take  them  a  great  while 
to  find  out." 

"  But  how  can  you  help  it  when  they  are  educated  ?  " 


THE   STUMBLING   STONE  58 

"  Educated  ?  Oh,  we  couldn't  then.  But  you  don't 
call  this  education,  do  you  ?  —  a  little  English,  where 
to  find  their  own  reservation  on  the  map,  and  some 
thing  of  the  rule  of  three,  —  we're  proof  against  such 
wisdom  as  this  brings,  we  shall  not  get  ousted  on  that 
account." 

"  What  will  do  it,  then  ?  " 

Hines  took  his  cigar  from  his  mouth  and  leaning 
toward  his  companion,  said,  "  That  only  will  be  a  fatal 
day  for  us  when  the  young  men  begin  to  go  out  into 
the  world  and  learn  how  we  run  the  machine.  As  I  told 
you,  it  won't  take  long  for  them  to  catch  on.  When 
that  day  dawns,  Newman,  we  may  as  well  strap  on 
our  knapsacks  at  once,  for  we  shall  never  stay  it  out. 
That's  the  day  when  every  one  of  those  young  Indians 
will  be  a  real  Moses  standing  where  a  Moses  ought  to 
stand,  before  Pharaoh,  the  Pharaoh  of  the  people. 
He  can  fight  as  well  as  the  white  man,  and  he  can  do 
some  things  better  when  he  is  trained,  and  he  will 
make  himself  heard,  —  that  is  to  say,  —  he  would  do 
it.  But,  no,  we're  safe  enough ;  that  won't  come 
about."  Again  he  took  a  puff  at  his  cigar,  and  added, 
"We'll  take  care  of  that.  The  embargo  laid  upon 
that  is  too  sacred  to  be  taken  off ;  it's  as  sacred,  —  Ah, 
Mr.  Caisson,  delighted  to  see  you.  Take  a  seat,  sir." 


54  ONOQTJA 

And  Hines  offered  his  chair  to  the  stranger,  and 
going  into  the  house,  brought  out  another  in  which 
he  seated  himself,  with  his  air  of  easy  confidence 
changed  to  one  of  courteous  attention. 

The  new  comer  was  a  slight,  middle-aged  man,  with 
delicate  features,  a  face  of  great  refinement,  and  an 
air  of  breeding  which  contrasted  sharply  with  New 
man's  roughness  and  gave  Hines  a  rustiness  of  manner 
beside  his  polish  of  constant  use. 

"I  hope  you  find  some  improvement  since  you 
were  here  three  years  ago,"  said  the  trader.  "  Things 
are  going  on  here  slowly,  to  be  sure ;  but  then  we  don't 
look  for  rapid  progress.  It  takes  a  while  to  civilize. 
It  took  us  a  matter  of  a  thousand  years  more  or  less ; 
and  some  people  say  that  we've  not  arrived  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  see  some  changes,"  answered  Mr.  Caisson. 
"  But  I  hope  much  from  these  educated  young  people 
who  are  to  take  the  lead  here,  as  from  the  nature  of 
things  they  must  do.  Their  record  is,  on  the  whole, 
encouraging  ?  "  And  he  turned  to  the  trader. 

"  I  find  it  so,"  returned  that  gentleman.  "  They 
form  a  nucleus  for  a  new  society,  not  altogether  civil 
ized,  I  must  confess,  a  kind  of  hybrid  between  the 
savage  and  the  enlightened,  we  might  call  them  a  half 
way  house  between  these  Indians  and  civilization." 


THE   STUMBLING   STONE  55 

"Exactly,"  said  his  hearer  with  approval.  "And 
we  must  be  half-way  before  we're  there.  And  they 
are  industrious  ?  " 

In  the  instant  between  this  question  and  the  reply 
the  trader's  thought  had  traversed  every  acre  of  the 
reservation  that  could  be  in  the  widest  meaning  con 
sidered  occupied,  and  had  found  here  and  there  scanty 
fields  of  grain,  here  and  there  patches  of  vegetables, 
and  along  the  narrow  valleys  on  the  river  banks,  the 
rank  hay  stacked  and  in  some  places  covered  with 
thatch  to  protect  it  from  the  weather.  But  except  the 
Government  workmen,  there  were  no  mechanics.  When 
there  were  vacancies  in  the  agency  work  possible  for 
them  to  do,  or  in  the  blacksmith's,  or  the  carpenter's 
shop,  the  returned  students  were  to  fill  them  if  they 
could.  Meanwhile,  there  was  open  to  them  the  part 
of  Micawber  with  much  competition  in  the  role.  His 
sarcasm  was  with  difficulty  kept  from  uttering  it 
self  in  some  form. 

"They're  ready  to  do  whatever  is  open  to  them," 
he  answered.  "  The  Government  always  considers 
them  paternally,  you  know,  and  on  the  reservation 
a  red  skin  counts  for  more  than  a  three-storey  brain." 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course."  Then  Mr.  Caisson  was  si 
lent  a  moment.  "  We  ought  to  have  more  work  for 


56  ONOQUA 

them  than  we  do,"  he  began  again.  "  But  this  will  come 
in  time.  And  that  reminds  me.  I  saw  two  good-looking 
girls  here ;  one  appeared  to  have  nothing  to  do,  and 
it  seemed  a  pity.  She  was  Waha's  daughter.  The  other 
was  with  that  woman  you  pointed  out  as  so  violent 
and  sullen." 

"That  was  Naumatin,"  said  Newman.  "The  girl 
must  have  been  Onoqua ;  she's  just  come  home  from 
school." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  one.  Onoqua  was  so  full  of  devotion 
to  her  race,  and  of  purpose  to  do  great  things  for  them, 
that  I  didn't  say  much  to  her  on  the  subject;  the 
other  one  was  ready  enough  to  accept  my  offer,  but 
her  father  wouldn't  let  her  go.  I  told  them  that  Mrs. 
Caisson  who  came  out  to  Portland  with  me  had  gone 
on  to  Bismark  to  visit  friends,  and  I  should  go  on  to 
meet  her  to-morrow,  and  would  be  glad  to  put  the  two 
girls*  under  her  care,  and  we  would  take  them  to  a 
good  Eastern  school  or  college  and  let  them  stay  for 
a  year  at  least.  That  would  have  fitted  them  better 
for  anything  they  could  do  here.  Of  course  I  respect 
Onoqua's  noble  devotion ;  and  I,  certainly,  should  feel 
it  very  wrong  to  interfere  in  any  way  in  the  matter 
of  the  other  girl." 

"  With  Ahsaniak,"  again  interposed  Newman. 


THE  STUMBLING  STONE  57 

"  Whatever  her  name  may  be,"  resumed  the  other, 
"  her  father  wanted  her  to  remain  with  him ;  and 
parental  affection  is  too  sacred  to  be  set  aside  here  for 
any  other  consideration  whatever.  That  these  people 
love  their  children  is  the  great  cause  for  hopefulness 
in  this  whole  business  of  civilization,  and  for  us  to 
show  disregard  of  their  ties  of  home  and  blood  would 
be  worse  barbarism  than  the  Indian." 

"  We  can't  have  too  much  respect  for  human  rights," 
returned  Hines  in  a  tone  that  made  Caisson  look  with 
some  curiosity  at  this  phemomenon  of  an  Indian 
trader.  But  here  Winder  came  for  him,  and  he  went 
away,  resolved  to  continue  through  the  agent  the 
investigation  he  had  been  about  to  begin,  whether 
such  remarkable  theory  in  this  place  agreed  with  the 
practice. 


58  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  VII 

KEEPING   CLOSE    RANKS 

HINES  busied  himself  in  lighting  another  cigar  un 
til  the  two  men  were  out  of  sight ;  then  he  turned  to 
Newman.  "  There  it  is,"  he  said;  "there's  the  bond 
that  the  whole  nation  is  more  afraid  of  than  the  whole 
race  of  genii  of  the  seal  of  Solomon.  Indian  parental 
affection  does  more  for  you  and  me,  Newman,  and 
noble  specimens  like  us,  than  all  the  societies  can  do 
against  us.  That  day  I  warned  you  of  hasn't  dawned 
yet.  You  don't  lose  your  drove  as  long  as  you  can  keep 
them  close  together.  You  can  carry  one  nation  in  the 
heart  of  another  for  a  thousand  years,  if  it  will  only 
keep  close  ranks.  Look  at  the  gypsies ;  look  at  the 
Jews.  The  first  are  somewhat  like  the  Indians  to 
day,  and  the  red  man  will  never  be  as  learned  as  the 
other.  But  they've  gone  through  every  country  in 
Europe  without  becoming  anything  but  gypsies  and 
Jews.  Eace  sympathies, — nothing  more  needed.  And 
so,  when  Onoqua  stands  by  her  people,  and  Mr.  Caisson 
won't  make  Waha  see  how  much  better  it  would  be  for 
the  other  girl  to  go  to  school,  which  we  know  lie  so 


KEEPING   CLOSE   RANKS  59 

easily  might  have  done,  why,  it's  our  part  to  encore; 
for  the  farce  is  benefit  night  to  us.  So,  now,  we  drop 
out  of  sight  the  fact  that  if  they're  going  to  rule,  they 
should  be  taught  how,  and  think  of  the  crying  shame 
it  is  to  separate  parents  and  children,  —  Newman,  you 
ought  not  to  be  here,  you  should  be  with  your  dad. 
Look  now,  at  that  fellow,  think  of  the  cruelty  of  his 
living  anywhere  but  at  his  parents'  hearthstone,  —  if 
they  happen  to  have  one,  — what  wickedness  to  take 
him  out  of  the  reach  of  the  paternal  voice  and  the 
maternal  caresses." 

The  two  men  burst  into  a  laugh  as  a  young  Indian, 
tall,  stout  and  vigorous  in  frame,  went  sauntering  by 
with  a  long  gaze  at  his  observers,  the  sound  of  whose 
merriment  reached  him,  and  as  he  looked,  he  scowled. 

"How  are  you,  Pejito  ?  "  called  Hines  blandly.  The 
Indian  answered  by  a  monosyllable  and  went  on, 
glancing  back  as  he  approached  a  bend  in  the  trail. 

Before  he  reached  this,  a  figure  came  out  to  meet 
him,  at  the  sight  of  which  the  trader  uttered  an  oath. 
"  Look ! "  he  said  to  his  companion.  "  With  all  the 
absurd  get-ups  here,  I  never  saw  anything  come  up 
to  that.  Who  is  he,  do  you  know  ?  What's  he  here 
for  ?  " 

Newman  also  was  bending  forward  watching  with 


60  ONOQUA 

interest  what  at  that  distance  seemed  to  him  a  mass 
of  animated  ornament,  largely  feathers.  As  Pejito 
reached  this,  the  two  shook  hands.  In  another  mo 
ment  Kasde  joined  them ;  Waha  strayed  up ;  others 
appeared  from  the  woods  a  short  distance  away  ;  and 
to  these  woods  the  whole  party  turned,  talking  ani 
matedly  as  they  went.  "  I'll  wager  there's  a  big  lot 
of  them  in  there,"  the  watcher  cried.  "  I'd  give  some 
thing  to  know  what  they're  up  to.  But  if  I  could  get 
at  them,  I  couldn't  understand  a  word ;  it's  a  disad 
vantage  to  us  sometimes  not  to  be  able  to  talk  Indian." 

The  figure  whom  Pejito  and  the  others  had  met 
was  grotesque  enough  to  attract  attention,  even  on  a 
reservation  where  the  dress  of  the  savage  and  that  of 
the  civilized  man  were  so  constantly  united  in  absurd 
ways  that  very  little  of  the  kind  gave  rise  to  com 
ment.  Around  his  head,  in  place  of  the  favorite 
ornament  of  the  bull's  horns,  was  a  circle  of  feathers 
surmounted  on  the  forehead  by  an  eagle's  quill.  The 
belt  was  also  of  feathers,  and  the  arrows  which  filled 
his  quiver  were  feather  tipped.  His  robe  of  deer 
skin  was  richly  embroidered,  so  were  his  mocca 
sins.  His  whole  air  was  that  of  a  person  of  impor 
tance. 

"  We  haven't  seen  as  much  Indian  as  that  for  many 


KEEPING   CLOSE   RANKS  61 

a  day,"  observed  Hines.  "  What  does  it  mean,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

In  the  woods,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  attentive 
and  admiring  listeners,  this  stranger  was  the  chief, 
and  for  a  long  time  the  only  speaker.  The  sermon 
he  preached,  for  his  oration  amounted  to  this,  was 
much  more  appreciated  than  the  one  of  the  morning 
had  been.  Eespect  and  devotion  greeted  him.  In 
the  speeches  that  followed,  some  things  concerning 
the  present  and  the  future  of  the  Indians  were  dis 
cussed  that  would  have  deeply  interested  the  two 
white  men  helplessly  wondering  what  was  going  on 
and,  with  the  sensitiveness  of  a  consciousness  of 
deserts,  fearing  mischief. 

But  when  the  meeting  broke  up  all  the  assembly 
separated  quietly,  and  nothing  revealed  to  the  ques 
tioners  whether  they  had  any  cause  for  alarm. 

"  It's  a  new  medicine  man.  They'll  be  having  a 
dance  in  a  few  days,"  announced  Newman. 

The  stranger  with  Waha  and  Pejito  took  his  way 
to  their  home.  It  was  the  same  one  whom  Ahsaniak 
had  found  there  when  she  had  waked  that  evening 
the  autumn  before. 

She  was  absent  that  day.  The  council  of  three 
that  was  to  be  held  there  was  not  for  women.  But 


62  ONOQUA 

Ahsaniak  had  not  waited  to  be  sent  away.  Naumatin 
had  gone  to  her  hours  before,  and  said,  "Come  and 
help  me  make  Onoqua  wear  the  dress  of  her  people." 
The  girl  looked  at  her  an  instant  with  dilating  eyes. 
Then  she  turned  away  as  they  filled  with  tears. 

"  No,"  she  answered  firmly,  "  I  will  not.  Onoqua 
must  decide  for  herself."  Naumatin  urged  in  vain, 
and  went  away  alone. 

But  Ahsaniak  hid  herself,  lest  she  should  come 
back. 


ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT  63 


CHAPTER  VIII 
ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT 

ONE  day  in  early  September  Onoqua  sat  in  the 
pine  woods  trying  to  study  out  a  problem  that  had 
been  given  her.  She  had  come  that  day  to  see  her 
mother,  and  Naumatin  sat  with  her  under  the  trees 
which,  from  a  little  distance  behind  her  tepee,  stretched 
far  up  into  the  mountains.  Here  at  the  edge  of  the 
forest  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the  Indian  village 
came  to  her  plainly :  she  heard  the  laughter  of  the 
children  at  play,  a  laughter  unmixed  with  any  noise 
of  quarrel ;  she  heard  the  voices  of  the  men  as  they 
staked  the  hay  on  the  meadow  below;  she  caught 
glimpses  of  young  girls  and  of  young  men  who  were 
sauntering  and  lounging  in  a  place  where  sauntering 
and  lounging  were  the  rule  and  where  idleness 
^triumphed  in  the  absence  of  opportunity  and  in 
centive  for  work. 

Onoqua,  so  far  from  holding  herself  apart  from 
these  people,  was  trying  how  to  bridge  the  distance 
which  her  education  and  her  different  modes  of 
thought  had  inevitably  made.  It  was  just  a  little 


64  ONOQUA 

behind  her  that  Naumatin  sat.  Once  in  her  per 
plexity  the  girl  looked  around  at  her  mother.  The 
Indian  woman's  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  her  with  a 
watchfulness  that  had  grown  more  intense  as  Onoqua 
became  less  determined. 

At  this  silent  appeal  Naumatin  at  once  bent  for 
ward.  "  Tahuas  never  does  as  you  say,"  she  asserted. 
"  You  are  too  far  off  from  her,  you  make  her  proud." 

"  Is  that  why  —  how  do  you  know  that  ? "  cried 
Onoqua  in  surprise. 

Naumatin  chuckled.  "  That's  why,"  she  answered 
nodding  emphatically.  "  Mahaka  told  me  so ;  Mahaka 
says  you're  too  stiff,  he  doesn't  like  it." 

"Mahaka  not  like  it ! "  cried  the  girl  in  amaze 
ment.  For  she  had  held  her  brother  her  stanch 
ally. 

Naumatin's  keen  eyes  grew  sharper,  her  wrinkles 
deepened,  her  habitually  sly  expression  grew  into  a 
look  of  craft.  She  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
evil  spirit  in  the  legend  whispering  over  the  left 
shoulder  of  a  mortal.  And  yet  not  a  thought  of  evil, 
nor  the  desire  for  it,  troubled  the  heart  of  the  beauti 
ful  girl  beside  her.  It  was  no  question  of  sinning  or 
not  sinning  that  was  swaying  Onoqua,  it  was  with 
anxiety  to  see  what  was  the  right  thing  to  do  that 


ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT  65 

her  sweet  face  grew  wistful.  For,  how  could  it  be 
right  to  yield  in  this  thing,  that  ever  since  her  return 
her  mother  had  been  pleading  for  ?  How  could  she 
be  the  instructor  and  the  example  she  had  determined 
to  be  if  she  could  abandon  her  vantage  ground  of 
civilized  looks  as  well  as  habits  ?  Yet,  on  the  other 
hand,  could  she  bring  herself  nearer  to  her  people  by 
showing  in  this  outward  way  that  she  still  considered 
herself  one  of  themselves  ?  Would  they  not  in  this 
way  see  more  plainly  her  sympathy  and  her  desire  to 
help  them  ? 

She  sighed. 

Naumatin  watching  breathlessly,  heard  the  sigh. 
She  was  a  foe  who  knew  how  to  thrust  when  the 
enemy  was  weary.  "Yesterday,"  she  began,  "Mau- 
keeneet  came  to  me.  She  said  to  me,  '  Onoqua  is  not 
my  sister,  Onoqua  is  a  strange  lady ;  I  do  not  love 
her/" 

"  0  mother !  did  she  say  so  ?  "  cried  her  hearer.  For 
Maukeeneet  who  had  been  only  a  little  while  to  the 
mission  school,  who  was  next  in  age  to  Onoqua,  and 
who  possessed  traits  of  character  that  encouraged 
her  sister,  was  of  all  persons  the  one  whom  the  girl 
desired  to  win»;  and  she  had  told  Naumatin  so. 

As  the  Indian  heard  that  eager  question  she  smiled 


66 

a  crafty  smile.  "It's  not  only  Maukeeneet,"  she 
answered,  "it  is  all  the  Indian  girls  who  don't  any 
longer  like  you  ;  Ahsaniak  and  all  of  them." 

And  she  went  on  to  assure  her  that  this  was  not 
the  half  that  might  be  told  of  the  feeling  aroused  by 
these  strange  looks  and  ways.  Onoqua  remembered 
Ahsaniak's  greeting.  Naumatin,  in  assuring  her 
daughter  of  the  antagonism  that  her  dress  and  her 
ways  had  aroused,  spoke  the  truth.  What  did  she 
care  for  Onoqua's  motive  so  long  as  the  girl  yielded  ? 

"For  Maukeeneet's  sake,  then,  and  your  sake,  and 
only  for  a  little  while,  to  show  that  I  am  still  one  of 
you,"  she  answered  Onoqua  at  last,  turning  away  her 
head  to  hide  the  bitter  tears  ;  "for  just  a  very  little 
while,  and  only  for  this  reason  I  will  do  it,  mother." 

Naumatin  grunted  her  approval ;  but  poor  Onoqua, 
trembling  with  the  distress  of  her  sacrifice,  would 
have  been  glad  of  a  warmer  acknowledgment. 
"Come  now,  then,"  said  her  mother.  And  as  the 
girl  drew  back,  she  insisted.  "  You  promised,"  she 
said,  "  and  you  must  go  now  to  your  sister ;  Mau- 
keeneet  will  listen  to  you  if  you  go  to  her  now.  I 
have  a  dress  for  you." 

The  news  flew  through  the  camp  as  swiftly  as  if 
telegraph  and  telephone  had  aided  it  j  but  the  inter- 


ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT  67 

pretation  of  the  act  halted.  "Onoqua  is  Indian 
again,"  they  said;  "she  is  tired  of  the  white  man's 
ways."  And  the  girl  found  this  assertion  on  every 
hand.  Had  her  mother  told  this  ?  She  could  not 
trust  Naumatin  if  she  were  fifty  times  her  mother. 

It  was  hours  before  Maukeeneet  appeared.  Onoqua 
went  to  her  with  loving  words.  "  I  show  you  that  I 
am  really  your  sister,  that  my  heart  is  Indian,  and 
that  I  want  to  help  you,"  she  said.  And  as  she 
looked  at  her  young  sister,  it  seemed  worth  while  to 
her  to  have  made  any  sacrifice  that  would  lead  her 
away  from  her  present  life  into  a  better.  She  put 
her  arm  about  the  girl. 

Maukeeneet  did  not  draw  away ;  she  laughed  good- 
humoredly,  and  looking  her  sister  over  in  her  Indian 
dress,  asked  what  Onoqua  wanted  altered  ?*  For  her 
part,  she  couldn't  see  that  they  were  not  just  alike 
now.  Then  with  another  laugh  she  ran  away  again 
to  Haneeyet  and  Ahsaniak  who  were  waiting  for 
her. 

It  was  almost  the  end  of  what  had  been  to  Onoqua 
a  day  of  defeats.  She  had  fully  resolved  that  this 
experiment  should  never  be  tried  again,  whatever  the 
arguments  used.  Even  Tahnas's  greeting  of  her  had 
not  been  warm;  she  resented  Naumatin's  influence; 


68  ONOQUA 

Onoqua  should  have  been  guided  by  herself  instead 
of  by  her  own  mother,  for  Tahnas  had  been  ready  to 
adopt  her  when  she  came  home  from  school,  and  she 
had  been  kinder  than  Naumatin;  for  she  had  been 
willing  to  let  the  girl  do  as  she  pleased,  provided  she 
did  not  attempt  to  instruct  her  elders  ;  but  Naumatin 
never  could  let  anybody  alone,  she  was  always  man 
aging.  Onoqua  saw  that  her  sacrifice  had  been 
more  than  useless ;  she  had  done  wrong.  Yet  she 
had  meant  it  to  be  for  the  best. 

She  would  go  and  take  off  her  Indian  dress  now,  at 
once,  not  even  the  rest  of  the  day  would  she  wear 
what  was  everywhere  taken  as  a  token  of  return  to 
the  past ;  for  it  had  failed  of  its  good  purpose,  it  had 
only  accomplished  an  evil  one. 

It  was  sunset  when  she  came  back  to  her  father's 
house. 

No  one  was  there.  She  stood  a  moment  with  her 
foot  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  her  uplifted  arm 
and  hand  laid  against  the  doorpost,  her  forehead  on 
her  wrist;  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground,  trying  to 
think  out  how  she  should  retrieve  herself  and  show 
what  she  really  had  meant. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  which  is  Mahaka's  house  ? " 
asked  a  voice. 


ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT  09 

She  looked  up  startled.  She  had  not  heard  a 
sound;  but  there  only  a  few  yards  away,  stood  a 
man  whom  she  had  never  seen  before.  He  was 
young,  tall,  lithe,  yet  strong,  with  a  dark  skin  and 
features  in  which  the  traits  of  Indian  and  white  were 
mingled ;  it  was  a  handsome  face,  and  the  eyes  were 
full  of  intelligence.  They  were  fixed  now  inquir 
ingly  upon  Onoqua  as  he  repeated  the  question  that 
in  her  surprise  she  had  not  answered.  He  spoke  her 
own  tongue  well,  yet  not  quite  like  one  belonging  to 
the  tribe  and  he  came  nearer  as  he  asked  again  how 
to  find  Mahaka's  house. 

"Mahaka  lives  here,'7  answered  Onoqua.  The 
stranger  was  dressed  in  the  army  uniform  that  the 
Eastern  students  wore.  This  must  be  Cetangi.  Ce- 
tangi  to-day  !  And  she  —  here  —  now,  like  this  ! 

He  looked  at  her  with  curiosity  as  she  answered 
him  in  English. 

"But  he's  not  in,"  he  said  in  the  same  tongue,  com 
ing  up  and  looking  into  the  house  and  then  turning  a 
keen  gaze  upon  the  shrinking  girl.  "  Can  you  tell 
me  anything  about  him  ?  Or  if  he's  away,  where  is 
his  sister  ?  " 

"  I  am  his  sister." 

His  eyes  swept  her  as  she  stood  there.     "  Yes,"  he 


70  ONOQUA 

answered.  "  But  not  you.  I  want  to  see  his  sister 
who  has  been  to  school.  Where  is  Onoqua  ?  " 

The  girl's  face  crimsoned  through  all  its  darkness 
of  hue,  the  sweet  lips  trembled  and  she  did  not  lift 
her  eyes  as  she  said,  "  I  am  Onoqua." 

"  You  ?  "  he  cried  in  astonishment.     "  Oh  ! " 

The  contemptuous  tone  cut  her  to  the  heart. 
Cetangi  had  heard  everything  good  of  her  from 
Mahaka  who,  she  knew,  was  proud  of  her ;  and  he 
was  amazed,  disappointed,  disgusted. 

How  could  he  know  that  she  had  been  told  that 
Maukeeneet  called  her  "  a  strange  lady,"  that  Mahaka 
said  she  was  "too  stiff,"  that  all  the  reservation 
resented  her  assumption  of  superiority  and  believed 
that  she  wanted  to  separate  herself  from  her  people, 
and  that  this  was  destroying  her  influence  ?  Ah ! 
Naumatin  had  known  how  to  put  things.  And 
Onoqua  had  flattered  herself  that  she  should  be  able 
to  teach  Cetangi  what  he  could  do  for  his  people. 
And  now!  He  even  despised  her. 

And  yet,  because  she  had  meant  to  do  right  and 
had  not  gone  back  to  Indian  ways,  she  lifted  her 
head  and  looked  at  him. 

"I  hear  Mahaka's  voice  now,"  she  said.  And  at 
the  moment  the  young  man  himself  came  running 
up  having  learned  of  an  arrival. 


ONOQUA'S  EXPERIMENT  71 

As  her  brother  came  up,  Onoqua  made  her  escape. 

But  she  would  not  now  take  off  her  Indian  dress 
that  evening.  Cetangi  should  not  think  her  acting  in 
deference  to  his  presence.  She  busied  herself  in 
getting  the  evening,  meal  ready  ;  for  Tahnas  often 
left  this  work  to  her  and  praised  Onoqua's  cooking 
to  excuse  her  own  neglect. 

Matoska  brought  quite  a  party  home  with  him 
and  they  had  a  merry  evening.  Cetangi  listened 
and  laughed  and  talked  with  an  ease  and  tact  that 
made  him  at  once  acceptable. 

Onoqua  sat  in  the  corner.  She,  too,  listened; 
but  she  neither  talked  nor  laughed. 


72  ONOQUA 

CHAPTER    IX 

RATION   DAY 

"  AND  so  you  ran  away  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Griswald. 

"  Everybody  does,  from  Naumatin,"  returned  Mau- 
keeneet.  "Nobody  ever  did  fight  her,  except  that 
time  that  the  teacher  wouldn't  let  her  kill  Onoqua, 
and  Matoska  told  her  she  must  behave.  But  he 
couldn't  make  her,  only  that  moment." 

And  Maukeeneet's  laugh  had  in  it  an  undertone  of 
bitterness.  It  did  not  please  her  to  be  the  daughter 
of  Naumatin.  It  was  characteristic  neither  of  her 
race,  nor  of  a  girl  as  she  was  openly  to  defy  her 
mother's  authority  ;  but  if  Naumatin  could  not  find 
her  when  she  went  away  anywhere  ho\v  was  Mau- 
keeneet  to  be  blamed  for  not  accompanying  her  ? 

Mrs.  Griswald  handed  her  guest  an  illustrated 
paper  that  had  recently  come  to  her  and  watched  the 
girl's  enjoyment  of  the  pictures  and,  cautiously,  her 
spelling  out  of  the  title  of  one.  At  length  the  other 
looked  up  and  announced  her  discovery. 

"  Bight,"  said  Mrs.  Griswald  pleased.  "  Maukee- 
neet,"  she  added,  "  you  learn  so  fast,  why  don't  you 
go  away  to  school  ?  You'd  like  it  very  much." 


RATION   DAY  78 

Maukeeneet  made  her  an  evasive  answer  and  re 
turned  to  the  newspaper.  Soon  after  she  announced 
that  when  the  others  had  set  out  for  the  beef  issue 
she  was  going  to  Onoqua's.  "  We  have  some  sewing 
to  do,"  she  added. 

Mrs.  Griswald  smiled  at  the  girl's  eager  face  and 
wished  that  all  the  other  girls  had  some  sewing  to  do. 

And  she  asked  herself  again  that  morning  what  she 
had  asked  her  husband  many  times  before  how  they 
could  be  expected  to  subdue  the  old  Adam  in  these 
Indians  without  the  power  that  the  Lord  had  insti 
tuted  and  was  constantly  using  to  do  it  in  all  people, 
—  work  ?  After  a  moment  she  spoke  of  the  stranger 
whom  she  had  seen  so  much  with  Mahaka.  He  was 
a  civilized  young  man.  Was  he  going  to  the  beef 
issue  ? 

"  I  suppose  so.  Cetangi  likes  to  see  people  and  do 
something.  He  gets  so  tired  lying  around  I  should 
think  he'd  go  home ;  he's  been  here  three  weeks  and 
he  doesn't  say  anything  about  it." 

"  Do  you  want  him  to  go  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  I  talk  English  with  him ;  though  he 
does  laugh  at  me.  He  tries  not  to,  but  he  can't  help 
it  sometimes."  She  was  talking  her  own  tongue  now. 

"  And,  Maukeeneet,  who  is  that  other  stranger,  the 


74  ONOQUA 

Indian  whom  I  have  heard  of  about  here  lately  ?  He 
has  feathers  on  his  head  and  comes  and  goes  like  a 
vision.  Who  is  he  ?  " 

Instantly,  the  girl's  face  changed.  A  veil  fell  over 
the  candor  of  her  look  and  she  answered,  "I  never 
spoke  to  him.  They  say  he  is  a  prophet.  Naumatin 
talks  to  him,  but  she  will  not  tell  me  about  him.  So, 
I  let  her  alone.  I've  never  seen  him  but  twice,  and 
one  time  he  did  not  speak."  Mrs.  Griswald  watched 
her  a  moment.  Maukeeneet  returned  her  gaze  fully. 
"They  say  he  is  a  prophet,"  she  went  on.  "But 
when  I  heard  him  he  only  said  this  year  would  be 
good,  that  this  year  the  Indians  would  be  rich,  that 
blessings  would  come  out  of  the  ground." 

"Ah,  yes,  an  abundant  harvest,"  returned  the 
other  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  hope  you  will  have  all 
he  predicts,  and  better  still." 

"  You're  going  with  us,  Onoqua  ?  "  asked  Matoska 
that  morning  in  a  tone  between  deprecation  and 
entreaty.  "It's  the  Government  that  gives  us  the 
ration  day,  and  you  want  us  to  do  as  the  Government 
says.  Then  why  won't  you  come  to  this  ? "  he  re 
turned  as  she  answered  him  gently.  "  Why  do  you 
set  yourself  against  so  many  things  ?  " 

What  was  the  use  of  saying  that  her  father's  dress 


RATION   DAY  75 

as  he  stood  before  her  that  day  had  more  of  the  old 
Indian  about  it  than  he  ever  wore  except  when  the 
spectacle  of  beef  on  the  hoof  revived  something  of 
the  excitement  of  the  old  days  of  the  hunt  without 
any  of  that  spice  of  danger  which  lifts  the  chase  a 
little  out  of  the  category  of  slaughter  ?  He  was  no 
worse  than  all  the  other  Indians ;  for  on  ration  day 
every  bit  of  savage  finery  that  was  hidden  on  the 
whole  reservation  was  displayed  in  triumph;  it  did 
not  fit  in  with  haying  and  hoeing,  but  it  was  in  excel 
lent  accord  with  ration  day.  For  this  was  in  the  lat 
ter  part  of  the  September  of  1888.  The  Government 
had  not  then  crossed  off  from  the  statute  book  the 
record  of  its  own  barbarity  in  the  manner  of  furnish 
ing  these  rations. 

Onoqua  answered  simply  that  she  expected  Mau- 
keeneet. 

"Maukeeneet  will  go  to  the  agency  with  her 
mother,"  he  said.  "Naumatin  will  make  her.  Every 
body  does  as  Naumatin  says,  —  when  she  is  near 
enough."  The  shrug  of  satisfaction  with  which  he 
finished  this  sentence  amused  Onoqua  in  spite  of  her 
self.  She  had  long  ago  given  up  useless  arguments 
with  Matoska  as  to  the  sacredness  of  the  marriage 
tie.  Matoska  always  listened  patiently.  But  he 


76  ONOQUA 

always  came  back  to  the  question  why  he  should  live 
alone  when  he  could  not  live  with  Nau  matin  ? 

"But  I  like  Tahnas'  ways,"  he  reasoned.  "She's 
kind  to  me ;  she  makes  me  happy.  I  like  to  be 
happy,  Onoqua.  And  white  men  are  good  men ;  they 
never  marry  but  once,  except  when  their  wives  die  ? 
But  I  couldn't  kill  Naumatin.  I  wouldn't  hurt  her 
little  finger.  Only,  I  can't  see  why  it  is  not  right  to 
keep  the  other  side  of  the  river  with  Tahnas.  The 
white  men  are  different  from  that,  you  say  ?  I 
wish  some  of  those  white  men  that  always  do  right 
would  come  out  here."  But  as  to  Tahnas,  he  would 
promise  Onoqua  he  would  never  leave  her  for  another 
woman.  Why  should  he  ?  Tahnas  was  good. 

"But  I  must  wait  for  Maukeeneet,"  Onoqua  an 
swered  that  morning.  "And  then,  father,  I  don't 
want  to  go  there  ration  day.  I'll  go  with  you  to  the 
agency  some  other  day.  It's  a  long  time  since  we 
had  a  ride  together." 

His  face  softened. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "but  it's  not  like  the  old  days, 
Onoqua.  I  think  all  the  time  now  you  don't  like 
what  I  do.  I'd  like  to  please  you,  and  I  don't  know 
how." 

Onoqua's  beautiful  eyes  met  his  in  a  long,  steady 


RATION   DAY  77 

look  of  such  affection  that  Matoska's  heart  bounded 
and  his  gaze  held  hers  until  her  eyes  filled  with  tears 
and  dropped. 

A  long  silence  in  which  Matoska  was  still  there 
made  her  look  up  again  at  last.  Her  father  had 
taken  out  the  tuft  of  feathers  from  his  hair  and  was 
fastening  it  to  the  nail  from  which  he  had  just  taken 
down  his  hat.  Still  in  silence  he  put  this  on  and 
turned*  about.  Then  he  said,  "  Next  time  I  go  to  the 
agency,  you  go  with  me,  Onoqua,"  and  went  out. 

Laughter  and  shouting  came  up  to  her  from  the  trail 
along  which  the  straggling  procession  went  on  to  the 
beef  killing.  She  grew  sick  with  suggestions  of  the 
horrid  scene  and  tried  to  banish  the  memory  of  it'  as 
she  had  seen  it  once  since  her  return. 

As  she  looked  out  at  the  passers  she  saw  Ahsaniak 
splendidly  mounted  with  Kasde  beside  her,  and  Ha- 
neeyet  and  a  group  of  girls  behind  with  young  men 
riding  beside  them,  all  of  them  dressed  as  if  for  a 
festival  and  all  in  the  highest  spirits.  Was  her  sis 
ter  among  these  ?  As  her  eye  ran  over  the  group 
scarcely  daring  to  dwell  upon  it  lest  her  fears  should 
be  confirmed,  a  shadow  fell  across  her  sunlight. 

But  it  was  a  shadow  that  radiated  brightness, 


78  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  X 
MAUKEENEET 

"  MAUKEENEET  ! " 

Maukeeneet  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Ah,  ha!  You 
didn't  expect  me  after  all,  Onoqua.  You  thought 
my  mother  would  pitch  me  on  a  horse  and  send  me 
off  with  the  others.  Not  if  she  didn't  know  where  to 
look  for  me."  She  threw  off  her  shawl  as  she  spoke 
and  bent  down  eagerly  over  the  work  in  her  sister's 
hand.  "  Onoqua,  you've  given  me  the  very  prettiest 
of.  all,"  she  cried. 

"I  advise  you  to  sew  instead  of  talking  if  you 
want  this  altered  to  wear  to-night,"  said  Onoqua 
smiling  up  at  her.  "There's  a  thimble  and  your 
needle  and  thread.  And  here's  a  good  deal  to  be 
done.  I'm  taller  than  you,  and  you  are  larger  round 
the  waist.  The  dress  must  be  shortened  and  let  out 
in  some  of  the  seams." 

"As  many  colors  in  it  as  if  it  were  Indian,"  cried 
Maukeeneet  examining  the  bright  plaid,  her  face 
beaming.  "And  all  this  red  to  trim  it  with.  I  tell 
you  what,  Onoqua,  I'd  be  as  willing  as  not  to  have 


MAUKEENEET  79 

all  the  girls  hate  me  if  I  had  such  a  good  reason.  It 
would  only  be  because  they  didn't  have  anything  so 
pretty  themselves." 

Onoqua  let  her  sewing  fall  into  her  lap  and  looked 
up  at  the  speaker.  "  Tell  me  what  you  mean  ?  "  she 
cried.  Her  face  was  flushed,  and  her  breath  quick 
ened.  "  Don't  jest  all  the  time.  Tell  me  really  what 
you  mean." 

"  I  couldn't  live  if  I  took  things  as  hard  as  you  do ; 
but  I'm  not  in  fun  when  I  say  it's  my  opinion  that 
not  a  girl  on  the  reservation  would  refuse  to  wear 
such  a  pretty  dress  as  this.  But  there's  no  chance  of 
her  getting  it.  Everybody  hasn't  Onoqua  for  a  sister. 
And  so  she  has  to  pretend  she  doesn't  care.  What's 
the  use  of  fretting  ?  It's  not  the  Indian  way.  We're 
nothing  but  Indians.  The  white  people  despise  us 
and  we  shall  not  cry  after  their  things.  We  will  live 
out  our  own  lives,  so  far  as  they  will  let  us.  They 
don't  give  us  things,  they  only  show  us  pretty  things 
and  take  them  away.  I'll  wear  the  dress  because  you 
give  it  to  me  and  it's  so  pretty.  But  I'm  not 
going  to  be  a  half-way  thing,  neither  Indian  nor 
white." 

"That's  what  you  are,"  returned  Onoqua,  "and  I, 
too ;  and  all  of  us,  neither  Indian  nor  white,  but  part 


80  ONOQUA 

of  both.  Matoska  and  Nauniatin  both  have  white 
blood,  Maukeeneet." 

"I'm  not  the  kind  to  be  half-way,"  she  repeated, 
"and  I  couldn't  be  white  if  I  chose.  You  know  our 
way,  one  drop  Indian,  all  Indian.  And  besides, 
Onoqua,"  and  the  girl  suddenly  lowered  her  voice, 
"  you  know  what  is  to  be,  you  know  what  is  coming 
to  the  Indians ;  you  know  that  the  Christ  that  the 
white  man  refused  and  tortured  to  death  the  Indians 
accept,  and  he  is  going  to  be  our  king  and  give  us  all 
the  land  for  our  own  again.  You  know  this  ?  You've 
seen  the  Messenger,  Wanigiska?  He  has  been  to 
this  house ;  but  he  goes  oftener  to  Waha's.  We  only 
whisper  it  yet ;  but  the  day  is  soon  coming  when  it 
will  be  shouted  throughout  all  the  tribes.  Surely, 
you  know  about  it,  Onoqua.  Why,  Cetangi  has  been 
told  of  it ;  he  has  seen  the  Messenger,  and  Cetangi  is 
with  Mahaka;  he  must  talk  a  great  deal  with  you, 
Onoqua." 

In  the  instant  that  passed  before  the  girl  answered 
that  she  saw  little  of  her  brother's  guest  and  talked 
with  him  still  less,  she  had  time  to  remember  what 
Maukeeneet  had  said  to  her  the  next  time  that  she 
had  seen  her  after  Onoqua's  wearing  the  Indian  dress. 
"  I  should  have  despised  you  for  giving  in,  Onoqua," 


MATJKEENEET  81 

she  had  declared  ;  "only,  I  knew  how  Naumatin  had 
put  it  to  you.  I  could  tell  from  what  you  said  to  me, 
and  I'm  up  to  her  ways."  Cetangi  had  not  known, 
he  had  not  been  up  to  Naumatin's  ways,  he  had  seen 
the  dress ;  to  him  it  appeared  that  she  had  given  in 
to  the  old  life,  and  it  was  not  impossible  that  he 
thought  that  she  had  returned  to  the  student 
dress  once  more  through  fear  of  his  opinion.  He 
despised  her.  And  she  ?  She  had  never  seen  any 
one  like  Cetangi,  so  strong  in  character,  so  bright,  so 
handsome. 

"Then,  you  don't  let  him  talk  to  you,"  said 
Maukeeneet.  "  He  told  Ahsaniak  one  day  he  didn't 
know  you  very  well.  Why  do  you  do  so,  Onoqua  ?  " 
Then  she  added  suddenly,  "Don't  you  know  why 
Naumatin  was  so  very  anxious  to  have  you  turn 
Indian  again  ?  She  wants  you  to  marry  Pejito." 

"Pejito!" 

"Ah  !  He's  never  toldjou.  He's  afraid,  the  brave 
man.  And  the  idea  has  never  come  into  your  head 
before ;  you're  so  busy  making  dresses  and  things  for 
everybody.  You  don't  want  him ;  he's  not  good 
enough  for  you.  But  he  wants  you  and  he  has  told 
Naumatin.  I've  caught  enough  to  understand." 

"  I'd  rather  he'd  talk  to  her  than  to  me." 


82  ONOQUA 

"  If  you  look  at  him  like  that  I  don't  wonder  he's 
afraid.  But  Pejito  would  be  glad  to  know  you  never 
talk  to  Cetangi.  Shall  I  tell  him  ?  " 

Soon  the  girls  were  bending  over  a  painting  that 
Maukeeneet  had  brought  with  her.  It  was  roughly 
done,  yet  with  unmistakable  ability.  It  was  a  winter 
scene.  The  fir  trees  bent  under  their  load  of  snow 
and  the  lowering  clouds  promised  more.  The  Indian 
hunter  coming  out  from  the  woods,  the  wintry  land 
scape,  the  very  atmosphere  of  cold  and  desolation 
impressed  themselves  upon  the  gazer.  The  work  was 
greater  than  its  faults. 

"  If  only  you  could  have  a  chance,  Maukeeneet ! " 

"You've  had  a  chance,"  returned  Maukeeneet. 
"And  you're  only  an  Indian  just  the  same.  And 
you're  not  half  so  happy  as  I  am.  If  the  white  people 
cared  about  you  as  you  think  they  do,  they'd  help 
you  do  these  things  you're  trying  to  do.  They  let 
you  alone,  why  don't  you  let  them  alone  ?  All  the 
white  people  get  things  with  money;  but  we  haven't 
any  money  and  we  can't  get  anything.  Pejito  says 
they  won't  let  us  have  our  own  money,  not  even  when 
we're  hungry.  I  don't  know  how  it  is.  But  it's 
going  to  be  all  right  soon ;  you'll  see.  Only  wait." 

"  Not  war,  Maukeeneet  ?  "  For  something  in  the 
speaker's  tone  thrilled  her  listener  with  sudden  fear. 


MAUKEENEET  83 

"  Not  like  the  old  wars,"  returned  the  other,  "  where 
every  time  we're  more  and  more  beaten.  This  time 
we  shall  not  need  to  fight ;  we  shall  only  have  to 
stand  still  and  see  what  comes  to  the  white  man  ;  how 
he  will  be  swallowed  up  in  death  and  all  the  land  be 
our  own  once  more.  Then  we  shall  reign,  Onoqua, 
for  the  Christ  is  coming.  The  white  man  has  refused 
and  tortured  him  to  death,  but  the  Indian  has  never 
refused  him  ;  and  this  time  the  Indian  will  not  need 
to  fight,  as  I  told  you.  It  will  all  be  done  for  him." 

She  paused,  breathless,  her  eyes  sparkling. 

"  But  is  that  what  you  want,  —  to  have  the  old 
days  come  back  ?  It's  because  you  don't  know  the 
new  ones." 

"Perhaps,"  returned  Maukeeneet.  "But  we'll 
never  know  them.  Who  wants  Indians,  anyway  ? 
Nobody.  Ahsaniak  says  you  get  on  best  when  you 
don't  care.  She  doesn't  care  and  she's  right." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  want  to  wear  this  dress  ?  And 
why  do  you  paint  ?  " 

"  I  want  the  dress  because  I  like  it ;  and  I  paint 
because  I  love  it."  Her  eyes  shone.  "I  love  it," 
she  cried.  "  That  didn't  come  from  the  whites,  that's 
Indian ;  the  Indians  have  painted  before  there  were 
any  whites.  They  don't  know  all  we  can  do,  Ouoqua. 


84 


ONOQUA 


If  they  did,  they'd  take  away  the  power  from  us,  as 
they've  taken  away  everything  we  have.  But  the 
day  is  coming  "  — 

"I  hope  it's  a  good  day  coming,"  said  a  voice  at 
the  window. 


THE  VISIT  85 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    VISIT 

IN  a  moment  Cetangi  had  entered  the  house,  taken 
off  his  cap  and  was  standing  watching  the  two  girls. 

"  I  thought  you'd  gone  to  the  agency/7  said  Onoqua 
with  a  sudden  distance  in  her  voice. 

"No;  Fve  had  enough  of  that,"  lie  answered 
briefly.  "May  I  stay  here  awhile?  Perhaps  Mau- 
keeneet  will  be  willing  ?  " 

Onoqua  crimsoned.  "  I'm  not  so  inhospitable  ;  Fm 
willing,  too,"  she  answered.  "  I'd  say  '  sit  down/  but 
there's  not  a  chair  for  you.  We're  not  like  your 
people.  We  must  seem  to  you  very  near  savages 
here." 

"  Our  tribe  has  been  at  it  longer ;  that  makes  the 
difference,"  said  Cetangi,  seating  himself  on 'the  floor 
opposite  Onoqua.  He  thought  her  unreliable  and 
knew  that  she  must  be  uncivilized  at  heart  for  he 
had  had  evidence  of  this  in  her  dress.  But  he  could 
not  help  watching  her  whenever  he  had  the  chance  ; 
he  wished  that  it  had  been  some  other  girl  whom  he 
had  found  relapsing,  for  Onoqua  was  the  prettiest, 


86  ONOQUA 

sweetest,  daintiest-looking  girl  he  had  ever  seen  in 
his  life.  She  had  the  most  beautiful  eyes  and  when 
she  smiled  he  found  it  hard  to  resist  believing  in  her 
with  all  his  heart.  But  she  so  seldom  smiled.  He 
wished  she  did  it  oftener.  Sometimes  he  found  himself 
trying  to  make  her  and  wondering  why  he  could  not 
succeed  better  and  not  liking  his  failure. 

"  How  busy  you  both  are,"  he  said  after  watching 
the  flying  needles,  for  Maukeeneet  sewed  as  deftly  as 
her  sister.  "It  seems  not  like  Indians  to  be  in  a 
hurry,  unless  they're  on  horseback.  But  I  like  it." 

Onoqua  smiled  and  colored,  and  then  was  angry 
with  herself  for  liking  his  praise. 

"This  isn't  all  I  can  do,"  returned  Maukeeneet 
saucily. 

At  her  nod  he  took  up  the  painting.  His  exclama 
tion  and  his  comments  satisfied  Onoqua.  He  did  not 
really  know  so  much  about  it  as  she  herself  did  but 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  convince  her  of  this. 
In  the  midst  of  his  praise  of  it  and  his  assertions  of 
what  Maukeeneet  ought  to  do,  Cetangi  suddenly 
raised  his  eyes,  to  find  Onoqua's  fixed  upon  his  face 
with  an  expression  of  intensity. 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'd  send  her  to  school,"  he  answered. 


THE  VISIT  87 

"Yes,"  she  said  readily,  and  paused.  Then  in  an 
other  moment  the  question  that  in  all  these  weeks 
had  been  forcing  itself  upon  her  found  a  voice. 
"  And  then  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  And  then  ?  "  he  echoed.  "  Why,  then,  I  would,  — 
send  her  to  school  some  more." 

As  he  spoke  he  fixed  his  dark  eyes  full  upon  Ono- 
qua's.  In  her  anxiety,  in  her  intensity,  he  saw  the 
same  tumult  that  was  agitating  him.  Whatever  ten 
dencies  to  savage  ways  there  might  be  in  her  she  was 
now  seeking  for  help  in  the  noblest  work,  this  girl  of 
his  own  race,  of  about  his  own  age  who  was  bearing 
in  her  heart  the  sorrows  of  her  people.  All  that  was 
ideal,  all  that  was  best  in  Cetangi  responded  to  the 
appeal.  And  also,  how  could  he,  a  young  man,  fail  to 
perceive  at  the  same  time  that  these  eyes,  so  full  of 
expression,  were  beautifully  set  and  that  when  they 
drooped  the  lashes  that  fringed  her  cheek  were  long  ? 
He  saw  the  sadness  of  the  mouth  and  its  gentleness. 
This  question  which  troubled  him,  what  was  to  be 
done  for  their  people,  was  troubling  her  also.  What 
was  to  become  of  them  ? 

As  he  sat  watching  her  this  bond  of  sympathy 
grew  none  the  less  evident  to  him  that  he  saw  the 
tapering  of  her  fingers  and  the  beauty  of  the  rounded 
wrist. 


88  ONOQTTA 

"  It's  easier  to  say  this  than  to  do  it,"  she  an 
swered.  "  How  would  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  in  Maukeeneet's  case,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  what  is  best  in  a  general  way.  But  you 
wouldn't  agree  with  me  ;  you  would  not  even  under 
stand  me." 

"You  might  try  and  see  if  we're  so  stupid,"  re 
torted  Maukeeneet.  "I'm  only  an  Indian  who 
doesn't  know  anything ;  but  I  don't  see  why  Onoqua 
shouldn't  understand.  She  has  been  to  school." 

"  It's  not  that  at  all.  I  mean  she  will  not  like 
what  I  say.  She  may  be  wiser  but  she's  not  the 
same  when  it  comes  to  what  we  should  do.  You'll 
see  what  I  mean." 

The  discussion  was  earnest.  Each  without  chan 
ging  ground  found  force  in  the  other's  arguments. 
But  through  it  there  grew  up  a  better  acquaintance. 

When  late  the  Indians  came  back  from  the  agency 
they  found  Cetangi  still  with  the  sisters  who  had 
given  him  a  dinner  served  in  as  much  of  the  fashion 
of  school  days  as  circumstances  permitted.  Mahaka 
came  in  laughing;  Matoska  followed  with  a  smile  of 
welcome.  Pejito  who  had  been  with  them  on  the 
way  home,  looked  in  as  he  went  by  with  a  frown  of 
hate  and  malignity. 


THE  MESSAGE   OF   WANIG1SKA  89 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   MESSAGE    OF    WANIGISKA 

THE  heavy  clouds  that  swept  across  the  sky  hiding 
the  sun  for  the  most  part  so  that  it  only  flashed  out 
in  cold  and  fitful  brilliancy,  the  earth,  hard  and 
bitter  cold  as  it  does  not  grow  in  milder  lands  until 
late  November,  and  covered  with  the  dead  grass,  the 
brown,  crisped  leaves,  the  faded  flower  stalks,  the 
bare  trees  and  bushes,  the  wind  in  the  great  pine 
forests  which  from  summer  sighing  had  changed  to  a 
sharper  sound  as  if  getting  into  tune  for  winter  moan 
ing,  —  all  these  were  a  fit  setting  for  one  of  those 
struggles  between  good  and  evil,  between  worship 
and  superstition,  only  other  names  for  life  and  death, 
the  struggle  which  no  place  is  too  dreary  to  witness, 
and  none  so  luxurious  as  to  secure  immunity  from. 

Here  on  the  edge  of  the  forest,  in  the  grove  that 
Waha  had  spoken  of  there  were  in  the  Indians  assem 
bled  that  day  two  minds,  the  one  aggressive,  domi 
neering,  determined  upon  victory ;  the  other  so  little 
represented,  so  overawed  in  numbers  and  in  power 
that  it  dared  scarcely  lift  its  head.  For  the  inexora- 


90  ONOQUA 

ble  law  of  assimilation  had  already  seized  upon  these 
latter ;  the  world  of  civilization  to  which  they  looked 
backward  was  so  far  away,  no  frequent  messages  of  its 
sayings  and  its  doings  bridged  the  gulf  for  them,  no 
consciousness  of  the  mighty  force  behind  them  added 
courage  to  their  hearts  and  strength  to  their  voices ; 
they  did  not  see  faces  turned  toward  them,  nor  hear 
voices  calling,  "  Well  done."  There  were  a  very  few 
young  people  here  who  had  been  taught  to  work. 
They  had  come  home.  Where  was  the  work  ? 

It  is  not  the  Indians  who  invented  the  proverb,  "  In 
Kome  do  as  the  Romans  do." 

Cetangi  looked  about  him  with  a  swelling  heart. 
The  brilliancy  of  promise  in  the  white  man's  land 
and  the  utter  absence  here  of  the  support  which 
there  seemed  so  abundant,  smote  upon  him.  But 
with  smiling  face  and  ready  laugh  he  moved  among 
the  people. 

The  dress  seen  that  day  was  hybrid  enough.  There 
were  very  few  of  the  school  uniforms  and  these  were 
generally  in  the  last  stages  of  usefulness.  Some  of 
the  girls  wore,  after  a  fashion,  the  dress  of  white 
girls,  and  from  the  care  they  took  of  this  it  was  evi 
dent  that  they  had  come  as  near  as  they  could  to  the 
condition  of  their  happier  sisters.  But  many  were 


THE  MESSAGE   OF   WANIGISKA  91 

thoroughly  Indian,  even  those  who  had  known  some 
thing  of  better  ways ;  and  conspicuous  among  these 
last,  not  only  by  her  beauty,  but  by  her  emphasis  of 
all  such  ways,  was  Ahsaniak.  It  seemed  as  if  she 
did  not  once  glance  at  the  pretty  dress  Maukeeneet 
wore.  She  talked  and  laughed  with  Kasde  and 
scarcely  spoke  to  Howaxte  who  in  his  school  uni 
form  stood  silent  watching  her. 

Winder  and  Hines  came  sweeping  down  having, 
they  said,  an  errand  beyond  there.  They  found  so 
large  an  assembly  of  Indians  that  had  it  not  been  for 
evidences  of  feasting  in  preparation  they  would  have 
been  uncomfortable.  But  what  was  there  to  be 
alarmed  at  in  a  harvest  festival  ?  The  agent  made  a 
little  speech  to  them  which  was  duly  rendered  by  the 
interpreter,  and  Waha  responded  to  it  inviting  the 
white  men  to  share  their  festivity.  But  these  plead 
ing  business  soon  left  the  Indians  to  themselves. 

"  I  was  relieved  to  see  that  scarecrow  of  a  wild 
Indian  wasn't  among  them,"  remarked  Hines  as  they 
drove  off.  "I  don't  relish  the  idea  of  that  fellow 
about." 

Pejito's  eyes  followed  the  wagon  out  of  sight;  then 
they  turned  upon  his  companion. 

"  Our  good  friends,  the  white  men,  found  not  much 


92  ONOQUA 

mischief  in  our  doings  to-day,  Kasde.  They're  not 
alarmed ;  the  red  man  only  wants  to  eat."  And  his 
laugh  made  Onoqua  turn  and  look  at  him  in  sudden 
fear.  He  went  up  to  her  at  once  and  talked  with  her 
for  some  time. 

Kaumatin's  presence  was  felt  throughout  the  assem 
bly,  whether  it  was  that  she  seemed  to  make  herself 
ubiquitous,  or  that  something  in  her  look  and  manner 
seemed  an  embodiment  of  the  spirit  of  mystery  that 
pervaded  everything.  The  immunity  of  childhood 
\vas  complete;  but  the  young  men,  and  even  the 
girls,  had  under  their  staidness  of  demeanor  a 
secret  expectation.  The  games,  the  feast,  the  gen 
eral  idleness  and  lounging,  with  the  talking  and 
smoking  were  not  to  be  all  that  day,  and  even  the 
speeches  without  which  no  Indian  banquet  is  com 
plete,  —  any  more  than  an  Anglo-Saxon,  —  wound 
themselves  up  sooner  than  usual  as  if  to  make  way 
for  something  more  important  than  these  light 
words.  For  Waha  had  not  spoken  yet,  nor  any  of 
the  Council. 

At  last  Pejito  took  his  stand. 

Pejito's  was  the  leadership  of  the  medicine  man 
rather  than  of  the  brave.  It  was  believed  of  him 
that  he  always  had  a  purpose,  but  that  time  and  not 


THE  MESSAGE   OF   WANIGISKA  93 

his  words,  were  frequently  necessary  to  bring  this  to 
light.  He  spoke  now  of  the  festival  as  of  a  harvest 
home.  He  compared  the  scanty  returns  of  the 
present  with  the  plenty  of  the  old  days  of  the  chase 
when  all  the  land  belonged  to  their  people ;  he  referred 
to  the  dealings  of  the  white  man  which,  swift  enough 
as  punishments,  when  they  came  to  benefits,  took  place 
mainly  in  the  future ;  this  had  led  them  to  distrust 
promises.  But  there  were  promises  which  could  never 
fail  of  being  kept.  These  were  made  neither  by  white 
men,  nor  to  them.  After  suffering  came  reward; 
and  to  the  Indians  who  had  suffered  long  reward 
was  coming.  When  ?  He  could  not  tell.  How  ? 
This  was  for  wiser  lips  than  his  to  declare.  Lips 
could  speak  only  where  ears  had  heard.  Not  in 
blindness,  not  in  haste,  but  quietly  when  the  day 
for  it  should  dawn  and  not  through  their  im 
patience,  would  their  reward  come.  And  in  that 
day  no  pain  would  be  remembered ;  joy  would  wipe 
it  out. 

The  listeners  looked  at  one  another  in  deepen 
ing  wonder.  Only  the  initiated  exchanged  smiles. 
Pejito  had  done  well;  he  had  prepared  the  way. 
Those  who  followed  him  would  not  trifle,  for  the 
keynote  had  been  struck.  Now  for  Waha  and  his 


94  ONOQUA 

guest.  His  guest  ?  There  was  none.  No  strange 
face  except  Cetangi's  was  in  that  attentive  audi 
ence. 

Then  Waha  began.  He,  too,  spoke  of  the  summer 
that  had  passed,  of  the  harvest.  "We  are  glad  of 
the  hay  and  grain  we  have,"  he  said,  "and  we  are 
glad  of  the  beef  that  the  Government  gives  us.  But 
when  the  winter  conies  in  hard,  then  we  are  not 
glad;  we  open  our  mouths  wide  and  find  not  any 
food  to  put  in  them,  the  food  all  eaten  up,  and  it  not 
time  for  more  yet;  and  so  we  have  to  say  to  our 
mouths,  'You  wait,  you  shut,  it  do  you  no  good  to 
open.'  And  then  in  the  winter  the  pain  comes  here," 
with  his  hand  on  his  stomach,  "  because  we  cry,  cry 
inside,  and  there  is  nothing  to  eat.  And  then  we 
think  of  the  days  when  there  was  plenty,  when  all 
the  hills  and  all  the  fields  were  ours.  If  they  were 
ours  now,  we  should  not  be  hungry  any  longer.  But 
why  did  we  sell  them  ?  When  somebody  asks  a 
white  man  to  sell  his  land,  and  he  says,  { No,  I  will 
not  sell ; '  that  is  all,  nobody  can  buy.  But  when  the 
Indian  says  'No,'  what  use?  The  white  man  says, 
'If  you  sell,  I  pay  you;  if  you  don't  sell,  then  I 
take,  and  you  have  nothing/  And  when  he  buys 
and  pays  the  money,  he  keeps  it  for  us  in  his  great 


THE  MESSAGE   OF   WANIGISKA  95 

box  away  off;  and  when  we  want  food  he  says,  'By 
and  by/  and  when  we  ask  it  again,  he  says,  'Lazy 
Indian,  you  go  to  work,  that's  the  way  we  do,  that's 
the  way  to  make  you  citizen.'  What  good  will  it  do 
us  to  be  citizen  ?  that's  the  question  I  ask  and  ask, 
and  nobody  tells  me.  When  the  white  man  buys,  he 
gives  us  not  the  money  he  pays  with;. when  he  tells 
us  to  farm,  he  gives  us  land  he  will  not  use  himself ; 
when  we  are  hungry,  he  says,  'Work.'  Now,  if  we 
work  hard,  the  grain  will  not  grow  before  we  starve. 
He  means  well,  everybody  says  he  means  well ;  but 
I  notice  one  strange  thing,  when  he  means  well  to 
himself  he  starts  out  another  way."  A  burst  of 
applause  greeted  this  statement.  "And  the  white 
men  always  come  out  well  in  the  end.  It  may  be 
that  they  do  not  mean  bad  things  to  us,  but  we  don't 
know  their  ways.  They  tell  us  we  shall  never  be 
any  good  till  we  do.  But  what  I've  come  to  tell  you 
to-day  is  that  we  shall  soon  do  our  own  way  and  it's 
a  good  way.  I  tell  you  the  old  plenty  will  come 
back ;  and  when  I  promise  you  this,  it's  not  a  white 
man's  promise,  it  has  not  a  rotten  place  in  it  so  that 
it  breaks  when  you  lean  on  it.  This  promise  is  made 
not  to  be  broken  ;  we  may  trust  in  it  and  show  that  we 
trust  in  it,  and  this  is  all  there  is  for  us  to  do.  We 


96  ONOQUA 

are  tired  of  being  cold  and  hungry  and  poor.  When 
we  are  rich  we  do  not  beg ;  and  the  great  promise  is 
that  we  shall  have  our  own.  I  bring  to  you  one  who 
has  heard  the  promise  with  his  own  ears,  who  has 
seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  Great  One  who  has  prom 
ised,  and  who  comes  from  him  to  you  almost  the 
first  among  tlje  tribes  because  he  trusts  you,  he 
knows  that  you  will  wait  and  watch  and  not  forget. 
Wanigiska  will  tell  you  what  he  has  heard  and  seen, 
—  Wanigiska,  the  Messenger." 

The  moment  before  Waha  had  been  alone.  As  in 
saying  this  he  turned,  a  figure  stood  beside  him,  — 
the  figure  that  Ahsaniak  had  seen  months  before  and 
that  in  strange  glidings  had  been  visible  to  a  number 
of  Indians,  by  actual  sight  and  word  to  only  the 
chosen  few.  He  must  have  been  at  hand  to  have 
appeared  thus  opportunely.  Yet  to  the  Indians  with 
their  keen  sight  he  had  not  been  visible  until  the 
instant  before  he  had  stood  tall  and  motionless  be 
side  Waha  as  if  he  had  risen  up  from  the  ground. 
The  mystery  of  his  coming  added  to  the  effect  of  his 
presence  and  prepared  his  listeners  to  receive  without 
question  whatever  he  might  say. 

A  breathless  silence  followed  Waha's  announcement 
and  this  sudden  response.  Wanigiska's  keen  eyes 


THE   MESSAGE   OF   WANIGISKA  97 

ran  over  the  expectant  and  eager  faces  of  the  as 
sembly. 

"  Waha  has  told  you  who  I  am,"  he  began.  "I  come 
to  bring  you  tidings.  They  are  tidings  of  life  ;  they 
are  no  white  man's  promise.  They  are  the  word  of 
One  who  performs,  the  word  of  the  Christ.  We  believe 
what  the  white  man  says  of  him.  The  Great  Spirit 
gave  the  white  man  words.  He  saved  the  deeds  for  us. 
About  this  strange  message  we  must  not  talk ;  but 
listen  and  watch,  and  do  nothing  until  the  time 
comes.  All  the  tribes  must  know  ;  all  must  be  ready. 
And  when  the  day  comes,  the  joy  will  come.  For 
the  Indians  have  never  rejected  the  Christ  and  cruci 
fied  him ;  it  is  only  the  white  men  who  crucify  their 
friends.  The  Christ  has  seen  their  cruel  ways,  and 
he  has  seen  our  cold  and  hunger.  He  takes  care  of 
people  who  suffer,  for  when  he  was  on  earth  he  knew 
how  suffering  felt ;  the  white  man  made  him.  And 
so,  he  comes  to  us.  You  ask  me  how  I  know  all 
this  ?  " 

His  voice  sank  into  awe  and  delight ;  and  in  mys 
tical  phrase  he  told  of  his  wondrous  journey  through 
the  desert  in  which  springs  opened  for  his  drinking 
and  of  his  wonderful  meeting  with  the  Christ  himself 
and  the  message  given  to  him  which  he  was  faith- 


98  OXOQUA 

fully  to  deliver.  He  quoted  that  all  things  were 
possible  to  the  people  who  believed  and  asserted  that 
the  old  days  of  the  buffalo  and  the  free  life  would 
come  back  again.  ';  What  will  become  of  the  white 
men  ?  "  he  asked  after  a  long  description  of  the  re 
turning  glories  of  the  old  days.  "You  have  felt  the 
hurricane.  But  you  have  never  felt  any  wind  like 
that  which  will  one  day  come  in  the  land  of  the  white 
men.  None  who  feel  it  will  ever  be  there  for  it  to 
come  back ;  they  will  be  all  swept  away  and  dead. 
We  cannot  bring  this  wind ;  we  must  wait  and  do 
what  he  tells  us.  To-day  and  to-morrow  and  the 
next  day  we  wait.  We  can  do  nothing,  one  tribe 
alone,  nor  all  the  tribes,  until  the  Christ  is  ready. 
Then  he  will  do  for  us.  Indians,  I  tell  you  to  wait, 
to  watch,  to  worship,  and  to  you  the  old  days  of  your 
loved  Indian  life  shall  come  back  again.  Join  hand 
to  hand  until  you  are  strong.  Send  from  tribe  to 
tribe  and  find  out  what  all  are  doing,  and  make  all 
ready.  I  bring  you  the  message  of  the  Christ.  I 
have  delivered  it.  I  have  finished." 

The  strangeness  of  the  interest  awakened  and  its 
intensity  as  well  as  its  nature  restrained  for  a  time 
full  expression  in  the  hearers  of  this  message.  Since 
it  was  to  be  secret,  it  must  be  in  some  other  way  than 


THE   MESSAGE   OF   WANIGISKA  99 

by  speech  that  their  delight  must  utter  itself.  Wani- 
giska  had  spoken  of  obedience,  of  worship.  What 
was  this  ?  Waha  talked  aside  with  the  medicine 
man,  Cahnahban ;  there  was  no  doubt  that  if  the 
Christ  was  to  bring  them  back  the  old  life  he  ap 
proved  of  the  old  ways.  After  the  festival  they  were 
to  have  a  medicine  dance  already  arranged  for. 

What  would  follow  ? 

Pejito  standing  somewhat  apart  leaning  against  a 
tree,  now  for  an  instant  took  his  eyes  from  the  face 
that  he  had  been  watching  from  between  his  half- 
shut  lids  for  the  last  half  hour,  Oetangi's. 

But  he  took  them  from  this  face  only  to  turn  an 
instant  to  Waha. 

"  My  father,"  he  said,  "  the  guest  that  is  among  us 
has  not  spoken.  He  is  learned,  he  is  wise  in  the  wis 
dom  of  the  white  men  for  he  has  been  long  among 
them  and  he  has  heard  from  them  much  of  the  Christ 
as  he  is  to  them  in  their  faith.  We  do  not  show  him 
honor  unless  we  listen  to  what  he  has  to  say  to  us. 
Let  us  hear  Centangi." 

Onoqua  looked  up  at  the  speaker  in  sudden  wonder, 
for  she  had  learned  from  Mahaka  of  Pejito's  opposi 
tion  to  Cetangi's  presence  here. 

But  Pejito's  gaze  was  as   open  as  the   day  and  his 


100  ONOQUA 

smile  had  only  the  blandness  of  courtesy.  Mahaka 
glanced  at  him  with  a  smile ;  then  he  frowned.  For 
in  dealing  with  Pejito,  one's  senses  were  the  last 
things  that  one  might  trust.  Eyes  and  ears  seemed 
made  only  for  the  Indian  to  baffle. 


CETANGI   SPEAKS  101 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CETANGI    SPEAKS 

CETANGI'S  troubled  face  lighted.  He  took  a  step 
forward,  so  that  he  could  see  the  semicircle  of  up 
turned  faces. 

His  heart  was  on  fire  to  say  out  what  he  thought 
and  felt  to  these  people  of  his  own  race. 

"  I  am  one  with  you,"  he  began.  "  Although  I  was 
away  a  long  time,  yet  I  did  not  forget ;  and  since  I 
have  come  home  and  seen  the  needs  of  the  Indian, 
I  have  been  more  than  I  was  before  an  Indian.  All 
that  I  speak  to  you  I  say  as  an  Indian  to  whom  his 
people  are  dear.  At  school  so  many  tribes  are  to 
gether  that  we  do  not  think  of  tribes,  we  think  only 
of  the  whole,  only  of  the  Indian  race,  and  we  find  we 
can  see  best  in  this  way.  Christ  hears  the  poor  and 
the  oppressed.  He  remembers  us  ;  he  will  come  and 
save  us.  He  has  begun."  A  murmur  of  applause 
followed.  The  veins  on  Pejito's  forehead  stood  out. 
But  Cetangi  was  seeing  only  that  the  faces  which  in 
the  rebound  from  Wanigiska's  speech  had  at  first 
looked  at  him  with  languid  interest  were  now  more 


102  ONOQUA 

eager.  These  people  must  listen,  to  him.  "What  is 
it  that  the  Indians  need  ?  "  he  said.  "All  things  that 
Christ  brings  to  the  people  who  believe  in  Him." 
Again  applause.  "  How  shall  we  get  these  ?  It  does 
not  belong  to  Indians  to  sit  down  in  weakness  and  let 
things  go  away  from  them."  A  third  time  the  re 
sponse  of  applause  assured  Cetangi  that  he  had  his 
audience.  "  You  speak  of  the  old  days  coming  back," 
he  went  on.  "But  the  old  days  are  like  the  last 
year's  harvests." 

And  then  he  reviewed  the  old  days  of  savagery,  of 
warfare,  of  alternate  feasting  and  fasting,  and  sketched 
out  the  new  surroundings,  the  new  opportunities  of 
his  race,  the  surroundings  and  opportunities  of  the 
white  man. 

"  In  the  old  times  how  did  our  young  men  learn  to 
be  warriors  ? "  he  said.  "  Didn't  it  cost  them  long 
trials  and  watchings  and  fastings  and  much  pain  ? 
And  did  not  the  old  warriors  test  their  courage  by  the 
pain  they  could  bear,  by  all  the  hard  things  they  could 
do,  by  their  holding  on  and  never  tiring  ?  In  those 
days  they  were  taught  to  use  the  bow  and  arrow, 
and  they  had  wonderful  skill  in  this."  He  paused, 
and  while  they  waited  for  his  words,  he  bending  for 
ward  asked  slowly,  "  Why  don't  we  use  the  bow  and 


CETANGI   SPEAKS  108 

arrow  to  day  ?  Why  do  we  use  Winchesters  instead  ? 
Because  the  white  man's  weapon  will  shoot  better 
than  the  Indian's.  And  does  the  white  man  shoot 
better  with  his  own  weapon  than  the  Indian  does?" 
He  shook  his  head  with  slow  emphasis,  and  added, 
"  All  the  old  skill  and  patience  count ;  the  Indian 
fights  well  with  the  white  man's  gun.  And  it  will  be 
so  with  other  things  that  the  white  man  uses.  Let 
us  try  them.  Supposing  we  had  the  buffalo  back, 
should  we  give  up  our  Winchesters  altogether  ?  Then 
it  would  not  be  wholly  the  old  days ;  or  if  we  did 
not  have  these,  we  should  remember  them  ;  we  could 
not  go  wholly  back.  We  have  power  to  be  as  great 
and  wise  as  the  white  men,  but  we  look  at  things 
upside  down.  We  think  the  past  is  of  most  conse 
quence.  No,  it  is  the  future  ;  this  is  the  white  man's 
strength,  he  loves  to-morrow  and  he  works  all  day 
to  get  it.  He  used  to  go  afoot  or  on  horseback,  like 
us  ;  now  he  travels  by  steam  and  he  has  cars  that  go 
by  lightning ;  it  may  be  some  day  he  will  get  hold 
of  the  northwest  wind.  We  Indians  must  catch  on  ; 
he's  in  a  hurry,  he  won't  wait  for  us.  Do  you  ask  me 
how  we  shall  do  this  ?  Did  our  forefathers  hunt  the 
buffalo  without  labor  ?  Did  they  wait  for  him  to  turn 
out  of  his  way  to  come  to  them  and  be  shot  ?  Is  not 


104  OtfOQUA 

knowledge  worth  as  much  trouble  as  the  buffalo 
when  it  will  give  us  better  food  and  clothing  ?  We 
Indians  like  hunting,  let  us  hunt  knowledge ;  it  will 
not  give  out  like  the  buffalo,  there'll  always  be  some 
left  for  to-morrow.  Wanigiska  says  our  enemies  will 
be  destroyed.  I  have  been  among  white  people,  I  be 
lieve  him.  He  says  the  white  men  are  our  enemies. 
Yes,  some  of  them  are.  He  tells  us  that  it  is  Christ 
that  will  destroy  them  for  us.  I  believe  with  him  in 
this.  How  does  Christ  destroy  enemies  when  the 
Father  leaves  it  in  his  hands  ?  He  turns  them  into 
friends.  Let  us  take  all  our  skill  and  all  our  wisdom 
and  go  out  to  meet  pur  friends.  Then  the  Christ  will 
have  given  us  back  our  own  land  again ;  because  we 
shall  be  free  to  go  anywhere  and  to  do  all  that  we  can, 
side  by  side  with  them.  For  I  tell  you  that  Wanigiska 
deceives  you  when  he  says  that  the  white  men  will 
be  swept  off  the  land ;  it  will  never  be  so.  It  is  not 
for  us  to  sit  down  and  wait  for  our  enemies  to  be 
destroyed.  It  is  for  us  to  be  like  our  heroes  of  old 
who  went  out  to  meet  the  enemy  and  destroyed  him. 
Our  enemy  is  our  ignorance  ;  this  is  what  we  are  to 
fight.  We  are  to  go  forward  to  a  better  freedom  than 
in  the  old  days,  the  white  man's  free  laws,  different 
from  agency  laws.  We  are  to  send  our  wise  men  to 


CETANGI   SPEAKS  105 

the  white  men  and  tell  them  we  will  be  free  like  other 
men  that  live  under  the  flag.  We  will  have  the  same 
laws  for  all ;  if  we  steal,  punish  the  thief ;  if  we  kill, 
put  the  murderer  to  death,  let  the  one  who  has  done 
the  wrong  suffer  for  it,  not  all  of  us.  We  must  not 
go  back,  we  cannot  if  we  want  to  j  we  must  get  on 
into  the  new  freedom  where  all  the  wise  and  great 
skill  our  forefathers  have  bequeathed  us  shall  be  seen 
and  honored.  This  is  the  message  of  the  Christ  to 
us." 

Cetangi's  words  left  his  audience  breathless. 

Suddenly,  the  returned  students  applauded  the 
opinions  that  they  would  not  have  dared  to  utter. 
Some  sprang  to  their  feet. 

Then  Pejito,  his  eyes  blazing,  made  a  swift  signal. 

Waha  stood  forward. 

"  This  young  man  is  none  of  us,"  he  said.  "  The 
white  man  owns  him.  He  teaches  us  no  ways  that 
are  better  than  ours ;  he  knows  nothing ;  he  repeats 
only  what  he  has  heard  others  say.  We  have  no  part 
in  him ;  no  counsel  of  his  shall  guide  us.  Whoever 
is  on  his  side  is  the  enemy  of  his  tribe  and  of  his 
people." 

The  few  who  had  felt  with  Cetangi  fell  back  awed. 
Howaxte  alone  went  straight  on  until  he  stood  by 


106  ONOQUA 

Cetangi's  side ;  and  then  Mahaka,  though  without 
haste,  joined  his  guest. 

Pejito's  smile  grew  more  pronounced. 

Wanigiska  stepped  forward  and  confronted  Cetangi. 
The  young  man  met  his  piercing  look  with  a  gaze  not 
less  keen,  although  no  glance  or  movement  betrayed 
disrespect. 

And  so  the  old  and  the  new  stood  face  to  face. 

At  length  Wanigiska  slowly  raised  his  arm  until  it 
was  outstretched  against  Cetangi.  Every  eye  was 
fixed  upon  him.  Every  ear  was  strained. 

"  The  Christ  will  deal  with  you  as  I  have  told  He 
will  with  the  white  man,"  he  said,  with  slow  distinct 
ness.  "  It  is  very  near." 

"  If  my  'heart  is  not  full  of  love  for  my  people  and 
of  hope  to  serve  them,  —  yes,"  returned  Cetangi, 
while  his  unwavering  eye  held  his  antagonist. 

Pejito  skirted  the  circle  and  drew  Kasde  aside. 


OVEEHEAED  107 


CHAPTER   XIV 

OVERHEARD 

TAHNAS,  starting  for  home  with  her  children  was 
joined  by  Maukeeneet.  After  a  few  general  remarks 
upon  the  good  time  they  had  had  and  the  largeness 
of  the  attendance,  the  latter  began,  "  Cetangi  knows 
how  to  speak ;  he  makes  me  feel.  He's  got  good 
sense  ;  don't  you  think  so,  Tahnas  ?  " 

"  That's  what  all  you  young  ones  think  about  each 
other,"  responded  Tahnas,  showing  her  white  teeth. 

"  And  all  you  old  people  of  yourselves,"  retorted 
Maukeeneet  laughing.  After  a  pause  she  added 
gravely,  "  I'd  like  to  go  off  and  see  the  world ;  Nan- 
matin  wouldn't  let  me  go  when  I  was  little,  like 
Onoqua.  She  wouldn't  let  Onoqua,  they  say,  but  I'm 
not  like  her.  Onoqua's  too  good  for  us." 

"She  cooks  such  nice  things,"  returned  Tahnas. 
"  I  let  her  do  all  the  work  she  wants  to  ;  I  don't  like 
to  work,  Maukeeneet ;  but  Onoqua,  she  sweeps  all 
the  time,  and  she  washes  all  the  things  so  much, 
she  wears  a  hole  in  her  skin  here,"  and  Tahnas 
displayed  her  knuckles  which,  certainly,  showed 


108  ONOQUA 

no  results  of  hard  labor.  "Pejito  hates  Cetangi; 
Cetangi's  too  strong  for  him,"  she  went  on.  "  Pejito 
wants  people  to  follow  him  only.  I  saw  Pejito's 
look." 

"Looks  don't  kill,"  returned  the  other.  Tahnas 
made  no  answer.  At  length  when  they  had  gone  on 
a  few  minutes  in  silence,  Maukeeneet  asked  abruptly, 
"Do  you  believe  Wanigiska,  Tahnas  ?  " 

"Believe  Wanigiska?"  answered  the  other  with 
slow  wonder.  "  Of  course  I  do.  Don't  you  believe 
him  when  the  Christ  has  spoken  to  him;  I  believe 
the  Christ  is  coming  to  give  us  back  our  own  again ; 
and  I  don't  see  why  Oiioqua  needs  to  wash  so  many 
dishes.  I  suppose  she's  run  home  now  to  get  ready 
for  Matoska,  he  likes  to  see  her  round." 

But  when  they  reached  the  house  Onoqua  was 
not  there.  "What  has  become  of  her?"  queried 
Tahnas ;  while  a  fear  that  she  could  not  explain  filled 
Maukeeneet.  Matoska's  waiting  with  the  men," 
Tahnas  went  on,  "perhaps  she'll  come  home  with 
him." 

Matoska  was  waiting  with  the  men  and  in  a  per 
plexity  from  which  he  could  not  recover  without  time 
to  retire  within  the  citadel  of  his  own  thoughts  and 
study  out  the  matter,  he  watched  and  listened  to  the 


OVEKHEARD  109 

reception  given  to  Cetangi's  assertions.  The  young 
man  had  been  so  clear  and  so  honest  that  for  his 
part  Matoska  could  not  see  why  people  should  not 
believe  him  or  not,  as  they  saw  fit,  and  let  the  matter 
rest  here ;  Matoska  had  in  his  Indian  head  so  much 
of  American  liberality  as  this,  he  believed  in  free 
speech.  What  had  been  openly  said  might  be  con 
troverted,  might  be  opposed,  but  the  anger  that  had 
met  his  son's  guest  he  did  not  like.  Waha  had 
sternly  denounced  his  ideas  and  his  statements,  but 
this  had  been  nothing  to  the  solemn  warning  of 
Wanigiska.  It  was  Pejito  alone  who  had  said  to 
him  that  Cetangi  had  not  spoken  without  being 
asked,  and  that  for  his  part,  he  was  glad  to  know 
what  the  young  man  thought.  But  what  had  Pejito 
really  meant  ?  As  Matoska  looked  about  him  he  was 
not  pleased. 

"  What  is  it  he  wants  us  to  do  ?  "  questioned  one 
of  Naumatin's  neighbors,  nodding  toward  Cetangi, 
who  now  stood  speaking  with  Mahaka. 

"  He's  no  good,"  returned  the  squaw,  "  he's  the 
white  man's  friend,  he's  no  Indian ;  we  don't  want 
him."  And  her  eyes  met  Pejito's  with  a  smile 
which  made  him  draw  nearer  to  her. 

"Is  it  all  settled?"   he  asked,  in  an  undertone. 


110  ONOQUA 

She  nodded,  and  her  fierce  eyes  shone.  "You've  not 
told  Mahaka  ?  "  he  pursued. 

"  Mahaka's  iny  son ;  I  understand  him/7  she  an 
swered  ;  "  he's  an  honest  boy  ;  I  never  tell  him,  he's 
not  like  my  friends."  And  her  malign  smile  made 
Pejito  frown  and  mutter  something  which  she  could 
not  catch.  "  I  help  you,"  she  added ;  "  it's  time  to 
start." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  It's  not  your  business  when 
we  start,"  he  said ;  "  that's  not  for  squaws  to 
decide." 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Matoska  looked  about 
for  Onoqua.  She  must  have  gone  home  with  Tahnas 
who  was  also  missing.  He  was  sure  she  had  liked 
what  Cetangi  had  said ;  he  would  talk  with  her  when 
he  got  home  and  then  he  would  think  the  matter  all 
over. 

The  wind  through  the  pine  trees,  now  roaring  as  if 
from  the  trumpet  of  a  winter  blast,  now  sinking  into 
soft  sighing  as  the  loud  note  died  away,  was  the 
only  sound  that  reached  Onoqua  as  she  lay,  her  face 
hidden  in  her  arms  which  rested  on  a  heap  of  pine 
needles  that  covered  the  projecting  root  of  a  great 
tree.  Here,  half  way  up  the  hill,  far  enough  from 
the  trail  that  wound  up  over  the  top  of  it  to  be  out 


OVERHEARD  111 

of  sight  of  any  passer,  the  girl  lay  nestling  against 
the  ground  as  on  the  breast  of  her  mother,  as  it  was> 
indeed,  the  only  mother  to  whom  she  could  breathe 
the  thoughts  that  rilled  her.  Or,  it  was  emotion 
rather  than  thought  with  which  her  heart  was  beat 
ing  with  great  bounds  that  hurt  her,  and  yet  that 
made  life  so  full  to  her  of  power  and  of  splendor  that 
the  pain  was  a  thousand  times  dearer  than  any  joy 
she  had  known  ?  Her  quick  insight,  her  fervid  ima 
gination  had  seized  upon  the  strength  and  gracious 
hope  of  Cetangi's  message  as  wings  to  bear  her  into 
a  world  of  fulfilment  of  all  things  she  had  dreamed 
of.  But  to  herself  at  that  moment  the  flight  had 
been  made,  the  fulfilment  had  come  to  her,  as  she 
lay  with  her  face  buried  in  her  arms,  her  quick 
breath  coming  and  going  as  if  it  were  wafting  her 
through  Heaven  itself.  There  was  no  consciousness 
of  want,  no  grasp  upon  any  need  of  a  future,  the 
image  of  the  present  in  its  power,  its  greatness,  its 
beauty,  filled  all  needs  and  overflowed  them,  and  this 
image  was  —  Cetangi !  A  certain  shining  warmth 
and  splendor  had  risen  upon  her  like  the  sun  upon  a 
new  day.  This  life,  pulsating  heat,  radiating  glory, 
she  did  not  know  as  her  own ;  there  was  no  sense  of 
possession,  there  was  no  right  to  any ;  it  was  all  a 


112  ONOQUA 

revelation,  not  of  herself,  but  of  him.  She  had 
admired  him,  had  appreciated  him,  had  enjoyed  her 
interviews  with  him,  brief  as,  with  one  exception, 
these  had  been.  But  to-day  all  at  once  her  whole 
soul  had  flamed  with  that  delight  which  no  life  can 
know  twice,  any  more  than  one  day  can  know  two 
sunrises.  To  look  at  him,  to  listen  to  him,  to  com 
prehend  him  was  all  that  she  had  done,  was  all  that 
she  had  thought  of ;  that  her  life  should  fill  his  had 
no  part  in  her  emotion,  for  this  had  no  outlook ;  it 
flashed  and  throbbed  until  he  stood  luminous  in  its 
transfiguration.  The  past  was  naught,  the  future  was 
unheeded.  Herself  unheeded?  No  sting  of  this 
touched  her  in  that  mood  of  exultation.  In  all  her 
after  life  she  remembered  this  hour  as  something  so 
strange,  and  there  were  times  when  she  prayed 
in  tears  that  God  would  forgive  her  because  in 
that  one  great  moment  she  could  feel  no  need  of 
Him. 

She  forgot  all  that  might  be  taking  place  down  at 
the  foot  of  this  hill  up  which  she  had  glided  unno 
ticed  when  at  the  last  words  Cetangi  had  spoken 
she  had  obeyed  the  subtle  instinct  which  bade  her 
hide  her  face  and  listen  to  her  heart.  She  had 
heard  nothing  of  what  followed  the  momentary  still- 


OVERHEARD  113 

ness  after  Cetangi's  speech  j  Waha's  stern  denuncia 
tion  and  Wanigiska's  warning  had  been  lost;  and, 
more  than  all,  she  had  not  caught  the  stealthy  gaze 
of  Pejito's  eyes  upon  her  brother's  guest.  She  had 
no  knowledge  of  how  long  she  had  been  there,  when 
voices  roused  her. 

She  raised  her  head  and  listened;  then,  as  the 
voices  came  nearer,  she  carefully  hid  herself.  For 
she  had  caught  Cetangi's  name.  These  were  not  his 
friends.  And  now  she  could  see  the  figures  of  the 
Indians  as  they  wound  up  the  narrow  trail  in  search 
of  their  horses  some  of  which  had  wandered  to 
the  top.  Kasde  came  first,  behind  him  was  Pejito. 
Several  Indians  followed  whom.Onoqua  knew  only 
by  sight,  they  lived  at  a  distance  from  her  home, 
and  they  were  not  young  men  with  whom  she  wished 
to  have  even  the  slightest  acquaintance ;  it  was  they 
who  made  it  so  hard  for  the  returned  students. 
They  were  more  Indian  than  the  old  Indians,  inas 
much  as  they  had  not  even  the  prudence  of  years. 
They  were  talking  now  with  the  freedom  of  security 
from  all  hearers. 

"  Wanigiska  predicted  it,"  Pejito  was  saying.  "He 
warned  him  against  interfering  with  his  sacred  mes 
sage  ;  he  said  death  to  him  would  follow.  But  if  he 


114  ONOQUA 

should  die  after  lie  has  spoken,  what  could  that 
fulfil?  His  words  would  not  die.  His  words  are 
against  the  triumph  we  must  win.  He  must  not 
say  them  elsewhere." 

"He  knows  how  to  make  people  listen/'  said  Kasde. 

Pejito's  brow  grew  darker.  And  after  a  few  sug 
gestions  had  been  offered  and  rejected,  his  subtle 
voice  rose  again. 

"  It's  not  only  to  Indians,  but  to  white  men  that 
he  may  speak,"  he  said.  "  And  what  he  says  at  this 
agency  may  be  sent  on  all  around.  It  has  been  so 
sometimes.  I  don't  trust  him.  He  must  not  be  let 
to  do  us  harm  when  all  things  are  prepared  for 
victory." 

"  He  shall  not,"  retorted  several  listeners  vehe 
mently. 

"How  will  you  help  it  ?  " 

"  We  know  how,"  they  cried  again  with  a  sugges 
tive  movement  that  made  the  hidden  watcher  shudder. 

But  Pejito  shook  his  head. 

"  He  has  gone  on  with  the  others,"  he  said.  "  We 
shall  all  meet  on  the  plain.  He  is  the  guest  of 
Mahaka;  and  Mahaka  is  one  of  us.  He  does  not 
know  all  we  do,  but  we  can  lead  him  anywhere, 
unless  we  touch  Cetangi."  As  he  spoke  he  had 


OVERHEARD  115 

turned  to  face  those  below  him  and  there  was  a 
momentary  pause  in  ascending  the  hill,  so  that 
Onoqua  caught  the  next  words  with  great  distinct 
ness.  "We  cannot  touch  the  guest  of  one  of  our 
tribe,"  he  added ;  "  but  when  we're  on  the  trail  on 
the  edge  of  the  cliff  that  looks  down  into  the  great 
river  which  we  pass  to-morrow,  the  surest  footed 
horse  will  jump  aside  sometimes  in  sudden  fright ; 
and  if  he  does,  he  falls  down  into  the  river.  If  that 
should  happen  to  Cetangi,  he  would  not  talk  any 
more.  If  it  should  happen,  how  could  we  help  it  ? 
We  were  travelling  with  him.  We  had  asked  him 
for  the  pleasure  of  his  company,  and  to  keep  him 
from  being  lonely.  We  grieve  for  him  like  the 
rest." 

Pejito  had  turned  and  was  going  on  again,  and  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  Onoqua  made  out  the  last 
sentence.  He  added  something  which  she  did  not 
catch. 

"It's  the  curse  of  Wanigiska  that  made  him  so 
ready,"  answered  one  of  the  Indians.  "  It  comes  to 
pass  so  soon." 

They  had  gone. 

Onoqua  sprang  up.     It  was  to  be  soon,  then,  this 


116  ONOQUA 

crime,   this   curse   of  Wanigiska,  which   meant  Ce- 
tangi's  death  ?     To-morrow,  Pejito  had  said. 

She  sped  down  the  rugged,  slippery  trail  at  a  pace 
that  recalled  the  days  when  she  had  been  the  fleetest 
child  of  the  tribe. 


A   GRAY   NIGHT  117 


CHAPTER  XV 

A    GRAY   NIGHT 

A  GRAY  night  with  a  ghostly  glimmer  of  moon 
light;  the  hills  left  behind,  the  plain  stretching  on 
interminably  ;  behind,  miles  between  the  rider  and 
human  habitation ;  all  around  dreariness  ;  for  com 
panionship  in  this  the  single  thought  that  before,  far 
before,  was  a  terrible  danger  to  be  turned  aside  and 
that  the  hand  which  now  held  the  rein  with  so  firm  a 
grasp  must  guide  the  rider  into  the  midst  of  it,  that 
the  voice  which  now  spoke  words  of  coaxing  and 
encouragement  to  the  faithful  steed  going  on  with 
all  possible  speed  through  the  night  and  over  the 
broken  trail,  must  give  the  warning  that  alone  could 
save. 

For  Cetangi  had  gone  off  with  the  young  men  not 
an  hour  after  his  speech.  Mahaka  at  Matoska's  re 
quest  was  to  wait  until  the  next  day. 

Cetangi  was  alone  with  his  enemies.  This  she  had 
learned  on  the  way  home. 

That  it  must  be  she  and  no  one  else  who  could  give 
this  warning  to  Cetangi  she  had  seen  with  a  forget- 


118  ONOQTTA 

fulness  of  all  difficulties  in  the  dreadful  urgency. 
She  had  found  Mahaka  not  returned,  Matoska  still 
away ;  and  after  an  instant  of  terror  had  come  to  see 
that  neither  father  nor  brother  was  the  man  to  face 
Pejito  and  defeat  his  purpose.  In  all  probability 
they  would  not  believe  that  she  had  understood,  and 
if  they  should,  Mahaka's  fiery  temper  might  chal 
lenge  Pejito  with  treachery.  But  Pejito  with  his 
deep  smiles  could  make  him  more  assured  than  ever. 
Matoska  could  tame  a  horse  to  perfection,  but  he 
could  not  manage  Pejito.  No  ;  Onoqua  herself  must 
go.  What  she  should  do  when  she  reached  the  party 
camping  for  the  night,  how  she  should  deliver  her 
warning,  she  did  not  yet  see.  But  he  who  was  send 
ing  her  did.  There  was  only  one  thing  that  she  must 
not  do,  —  fail.  If  success  must  cost  her  life,  she 
would  give  this. 

In  that  long,  desolate  ride  it  was  not  hidden  from 
her  that  to  save  Cetangi's  life  would  be  a  joy 
worth  dying  for. 

She  had  glanced  into  the  house  and  seen  Tahnas 
and  Maukeeneet  there  busy  over  the  fire ;  they  had 
not  caught  a  glimpse  of  her ;  and  finding  no  one  else 
at  home  she  had  seen  her  way.  She  had  snatched  up 
the  bridle  of  her  own  horse,  Peyan,  and  running 


A  GRAY  NIGHT  119 

swiftly  up  to  the  pasture  had  captured  her  pet  who 
came  at  her  voice  to  be  caressed.  She  had  sprung 
upon  him  barebacked  as  she  had  constantly  ridden 
in  her  home  life.  If,  under  Heaven,  she  and  Peyan 
could  not  save  Cetangi,  there  was  no  salvation  for 
him. 

But  as  the  miles  stretched  on  and  on,  she  realized 
more  and  more  that  other  horses  than  Peyan  had 
speed  and  endurance,  and  that  these  had  "had  the  start. 
The  clouds  grew  thinner,  but  the  added  light  showed 
no  human  being  in  sight.  From  the  woods  came  the 
distant  sounds  of  night,  a  commingled  murmur  which 
the  night  wind  now  and  then  bore  to  her,  but  so 
faintly  that  she  could  not  distinguish  in  it  the  cry  of 
beast  or  bird.  She  thought  only  how  far  Cetangi 
must  have  travelled.  She  forgot  that  in  these  woods 
the  wolves  were  howling  and  that  from  any  point  they 
might  break  across  the  plain. 

"  On,  on,  Peyan,  good  horse,"  she  urged  by  voice 
and  touch,  "  poor  fellow,  farther,  farther  ;  it's  not  time 
to  lag,yet." 

And  still  her  eyes  swept  the  horizon  in  vain  for  the 
camp  fires.  But  beyond  that  hillock  in  the  distance 
the  land  fell  away,  the  beginning  of  the  descent  to  the 
river.  She  might  find  them  on  the  lower  ground. 


120  ONOQTTA 

The  Indians  with  whom  Cetangi  had  come  on  had 
met  the  advanced  party  of  the  Sioux,  and  all  had 
camped  for  the  night. 

But  that  scene  was  anything  but  a  promise  of  the 
rest  of  that  time.  First,  supper  ;  then,  the  beginning 
of  their  dance.  The  lires  were  made  and  the  food 
cooking  in  an  incredibly  short  time,  the  boys  helping 
the  squaws  to  keep  the  flames  roaring  under  the  great 
kettles.  A  few  girls  had  come  with  Pejito's  young 
men,  among  them  Ahsaniak.  She  flitted  about  among 
the  other  women  laughing  and  talking  and  in  her 
bright  way  helping  on  the  preparations. 

When  the  supper  had  been  eaten,  Cetangi  throwing 
himself  down  with  his  back  to  one  of  the  encircling 
fires  watched  with  a  sombre  eye  the  arrangements 
being  made  to  begin  the  dance. 

The  firelight  lent  an  added  grotesqueness  to  the 
figures  over  which  it  threw  its  flickerings  and  its 
shadows.  The  greater  part  of  the  Indians  had  some 
thing  of  the  dress  of  civilization  about  them;  but 
face  and  movements  at  that  time  served  only  to  make 
this  the  more  out  of  place.  Were  these  the  men  who 
when  occasion  demanded  could  move  with  the  slow 
precision,  the  military  dignity  of  veteran  soldiers  ? 
Two  or  three  of  them  were  schoolmates  of  Cetangi's. 


A  GRAY  NIGHT  121 

He  compared  them  that  evening  and  as  he  had  seen 
them  marching  in  file  to  their  meals  or  their  school 
room.  If  it  had  been  only  to  return  to  this,  why 
need  they  have  known  the  other  life  at  all  ?  And 
yet,  Cetangi  pitied  them,  for  he  saw  that  they,  like 
many  others,  were  only  falling  in  with  the  crowd,  a 
sad  way  with  human  nature.  And  then  they  did  not 
dance  all  the  time,  they  sometimes  worked.  They 
greeted  him  warmly,  but  finding  him  spoiled  by  the 
white  man,  left  him  to  himself  lying  on  his  elbow 
beside  the  fire,  a  heartsick  spectator  of  their  prepara 
tions  for  the  medicine  dance.  His  own  tribe  had  long 
since  given  up  all  this  sort  of  thing.  When  a  boy 
he  had  visited  for  a  few  days  this  very  tribe  with  an, 
uncle  who  spoke  the  tongue  and  had  taught  it  to  him. 
Since  then  he  had  not  seen  a  medicine  dance  until 
that  night. 

Then,  why  was  he  there  at  all  ? 

In  itself,  he  cared  nothing  for  Wanigiska's  de 
nouncement.  But  it  mattered  very  much  to  him  that 
he  had  offended  Mahaka's  people ;  it  seemed  a  poor 
return  for  hospitality.  With  such  opportunity  he 
would  not  have  refrained  from  speaking  out  his  con 
victions  upon  a  subject  so  important  to  all  Indians. 
But  he,  and  not  Mahaka,  must  take  the  consequences. 


122  ONOQUA 

He  was  wondering  how  he  could  withdraw  himself 
without  giving  offence  when  Kasde  came  to  him. 

Kasde  said  that  he  had  heard  him  say  a  few  days 
before  that  he  was  going  home  soon.  He  had  come 
to  tell  him  that  a  number  were  going  his  way  that 
night  and  farther  the  next  day,  and  if  he  wanted 
company  a  part  of  his  journey,  he  might  go  along 
with  them  and  they  should  have  time  then  to  dis 
cuss  his  new  plans  for  the  Indians.  Cetangi  disliked 
Kasde  and  Pejito  and  the  young  men  about  them. 
But  he  could  not  refuse  this  challenge.  Should  Kasde 
be  able  to  boast  that  Cetangi  was  afraid  ? 

On  accepting  he  had  found  that  they  were  to  start 
immediately.  But  he  had  not  forgotten  to  look  about 
for  Onoqua.  He  thought  of  her  as  he  lay  now  by 
the  campfire,  and  compared  her  with  the  girls  about 
him.  Why  she  had  once  put  on  the  Indian  dress  he 
did  not  know ;  but  everything  else  that  he  had  seen 
in  her  made  it  seem  impossible  that  she  should  ever 
be  in  any  scene  like  this. 

Suddenly,  he  half  sprang  up,  then  bent  forward, 
motionless  and  eager. 

For  there,  passing  almost  close  beside  him  without 
turning  her  head,  moving  straight  on  to  the  outer  side 
of  the  circle  around  another  fire  where  Ahsaniak  sat 


A  GRAY   NIGHT  123 

was  Onoqua.  She  glided  into  the  scene  like  a  vision, 
and  she  was  as  utterly  alien  to  it.  She  came  to  the 
Indians  like  their  possibilities.  It  was  as  if  the  be 
ginning  of  the  present  century  and  of  the  next  stood 
face  to  face. 

The  laugh  died  on  Ahsaniak's  lips.  Her  eyes  di 
lated  -  as  she  looked  up  at  the  figure  standing  gazing 
down  at  her,  the  hand  reached  out  to  her  from  under 
the  dark  blue  cloak  with  its  bright  lining  that  wrapped 
its  wearer  from  head  to  feet,  the  scarlet  knitted  cap 
like  those  that  the  girls  at  the  school  were  so  fond  of 
wearing  setting  off  the  blackness  of  the  hair  blown 
about  the  face  now  in  the  wind,  and  that  face  appeal 
ing  to  her,  commanding  her  with  a  power  that  Ahsan- 
iak  had  never  seen  there  before. 

For  Onoqua  with  heart  unafraid  had  said  that  God 
would  show  her  what  to  do,  and  there  as  she  came 
to  the  camp,  directly  before  her,  too  bright,  too  good 
for  the  life  she  had  entered  upon,  was  Ahsaniak. 
Straight  as  an  Indian  arrow  to  its  mark  went  Onoqua 
to  the  work  appointed  her.  "  Come,  Ahsaniak,"  she 
said  with  the  divine  authority  of  right  in  her  tones, 
"come  with  me.  Come  away."  And  she  reached 
out  further  her  small,  firm  hand  and  took  hold  of 
Ahsaniak's.  By  this  clasp  she  raised  the  girl,  and 


124  ONOQUA 

putting  her  arm  close  about  her,  led  her  forward  a 
few  steps. 

No  one  interfered,  no  one  spoke ;  all  her  own  band 
looked  at  Onoqua  with  a  certain  pride  in  her  that 
went  strangely  with  the  purpose  for  which  they  were 
here.  There  was  one  among  the  Sioux,  a  young  man, 
who  had  known  her  at  school ;  as  she  looked  at  him, 
he  half  raised  his  hand  involuntarily  for  the  salute  of 
a  gentleman  which  he  had  learned  at  the  school,  but 
it  fell  again  as  he  remembered  the  feathers  in  his 
hair. 


THE  WARNING  125 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE    WARNING 

"  WHERE  is  your  horse,  Ahsaniak  ?  "  said  Onoqua. 
"  I  must  leave  Peyan  to  rest.  Perhaps  Cetangi  will 
get  him  for  us.  He's  not  busy." 

Then,  she  had  seen  him.     Cetangi  sprang  up. 

"  Cetangi  knows  nothing  about  Ahsaniak's  horse/' 
said  a  sullen  voice  behind  her.  And  wrathful  eyes 
looked  into  hers. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Pejito ;  you  will  do  it  for  us  ? 
You're  very  kind;  I  shall  be  so  much  obliged  to 
you."  And  with  her  eyes  meeting  his  in  appre 
ciation  of  the  offer  that  she  had  caught  behind  his 
statement,  Onoqua  gave  him  a  flashing  smile  of  grati 
tude  with  her  back  to  Cetangi  as  if  he  no  longer 
existed  for  her.  Pejito  looked  down  a  moment  at 
the  sweet,  bright  face  in  a  certain  bewilderment.  It 
was  then  that  Onoqua  began  to  move  on  glancing  back 
at  him. 

"This  way,"  said  Pejito  turning  in  the  opposite 
direction.  She  followed  him,  and  Ahsaniak  and  Ce 
tangi  followed  her.  She  talked  with  Pejito  as  they 


126  ONOQUA 

went  on.  He  answered  briefly,  and  in  the  first  pause 
he  turned  to  her  with,  "What  did  you  come  here 
for?" 

"  I  came  here,"  returned  Onoqua  in  untroubled 
tones,  "  to  do  my  duty."  Instantly,  she  turned  her 
head.  "  Ahsaniak,  are  you  there  ?  "  she  asked.  She 
looked  again  at  Pejito  without  any  attempt  to  speak 
to  Cetangi.  If  this  were  true,  he  reasoned,  it  was 
not  the  first  time  that  Onoqua  had  tried  to  turn  his 
sister  from  the  old  life. 

He  could  forgive  her  since  it  was  at  Ahsaniak's 
brother  that  she  had  just  smiled  gratefully. 

He  drew  nearer  to  her. 

The  hand  hidden  under  the  cloak  clinched  itself, 
but  the  steady  feet  never  swerved  a  hair's  breadth 
away  from  his  side.  Men  for  power,  for  greed,  for 
policy,  dissemble  well ;  but  not  the  subtlest  of  them 
can  approach  a  woman's  skill  when  she  battles  for 
the  life  of  the  man  she  loves.  "  You  know  how  fond 
I  am  of  Peyan,  Pejito,"  she  began.  "  I  cannot  ride 
him  back  to-night.  Will  you  let  me  leave  him  in 
your  care  ?  Will  you  see  that  no  harm  comes  to 
him  ?  And  will  you  bring  him  back  to  me  ?  I  shall 
be  so  grateful  to  you."  This  new  confidence  in  him 
made  Pejito's  heart  bound. 


THE   WARNING  127 

"I'll  give  you  my  horse,"  he  answered  her;  ahe 
goes  like  the  west  wind  when  it  is  angry,  and  you 
keep  him  till  I  bring  back  Peyan  to  you.  I'll  look 
after  him  I  will  ride  him  myself.  When  I  come 
home,  I'll  give  him  back  to  you  safe." 

Only  Onoqua  herself  knew  that  she  had  hesitated. 

"  You're  very  kind,"  she  said ;  "  I  will  take  your 
horse,  Peyan  must  rest."  Then  she  saw  that  it  was 
the  fresh  horse  of  the  pursuer  that  had  been  offered 
to  her.  Still  she  had  not  glanced  toward  Cetangi. 
Pejito  stopped  them.  "The  horse  is  close  by,"  he 
said.  "Wait." 

"  In  the  road  along  the  cliff  by  the  river  they  are 
to  make  your  horse  jump  and  go  over  the  cliff  with 
you.  Then  you'll  talk  no  more.  It's  his  doings,  — 
Pejito's.  Save  yourself, — and  God  help  you."  Ce 
tangi  was  startled  by  this  voice  low  and  clear  in  his 
ear.  He  turned  to  answer.  But  no  one  was  there. 
Pejito  at  the  moment  looking  back  saw  Onoqua 
standing  beside  his  sister. 

"I'll  strike  the  railroad.  When  they're  in  the 
midst  of  this  I  can  get  away.  Onoqua,  I "  — 

"Here  he  is,"  called  Pejito  returning. 

And  with  the  bridle  of  his  own  horse  over  his  arm, 
he  went  forward  to  Ahsaniak's.  It  was  plain  that  he, 
and  not  Cetangi,  was  to  help  Onoqua  mount. 


128  ONOQUA 

"Wait!"  cried  Cetangi.  "If  you're  going  back 
in  the  night,  you  two  girls  must  not  go  alone.  I'll 
get  my  horse ;  I'll  go  with  you." 

"Oh,"  cried  Onoqua  in  a  terror  that  for  the  mo 
ment  she  could  not  control,  "no,  no,  Cetangi,  you 
mustn't  think  of  it.  I  don't  want  it." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Pejito  ?     Shall  we  do  it  ?  " 

Pejito  had  too  prominent  a  part  in  the  night's  per 
formances  to  be  able  to  absent  himself,  and  he  was 
too  ready  to  have  Onoqua  away  from  the  sight  of  them 
to  throw  the  least  impediment  in  the  way  of  her 
carrying  off  Ahsaniak.  But  Cetangi  go  with  them  ? 
He  looked  at  him  with  new  suspicion.  For  it  was 
not  of  the  other's  talk  to  his  people  that  Pejito  had 
the  greatest  fear.  But  here  was  a  girl  who  had  just 
shown  herself  brave  enough  to  make  any  chief  proud 
to  own  her. 

"Ko,  no,  I  will  not  have  it,"  cried  Onoqua.  "I 
will  not  have  either  of  you.  We  shall  go  alone." 

Pejito  smiled  grimly.  "You're  educated,  Cetangi, 
you're  like  a  white  man.  The  white  men  do  what 
the  women  say  to  them  to  do ;  they  think  it  not  good 
manners  to  disobey.  You  cannot  go.  Onoqua  doesn't 
like  you.  I  cannot  go,  I  have  business  here.  Get 
up,  Onoqua."  He  held  out  his  hand  for  her  to  place 


THE   WARNING  129 

her  foot  in  it,  as  if  he,  too,  knew  something  of  the 
ways  of  white  men.  "  You  help  Ahsaniak,  Cetangi," 
he  added.  And  Cetangi  gave  her  a  laughing  good-by 
as  he  helped  her  spring  upon  her  horse. 

Then  he  came  up  to  where  Onoqua  was  seated. 

"  If  you  won't  let  me  go  with  you,"  he  said  audibly, 
"at  least  you'll  let  me  say  good-by  to  you  when  I 
came  away  without  doing  it  and  thank  you  for  all 
your  kindness."  Then  coining  closer,  he  added  in 
rapid  English,  "  Did  you  come  all  this  way  to  warn 
me  ?  Tell  me,  Onoqua." 

"  I  should  be  wicked  if  I  would  not  do  more  to  save 
a  human  life  and  my  brother's  guest,"  she  answered 
him  in  the  same  tongue.  She  took  the  reins  from 
Pejito,  and  before  Cetangi  could  say  another  word, 
before  he  could  touch  the  hand  she  did  not  hold  out  to 
him,  she  was  off. 

Ahsaniak  followed. 

As  they  swept  past  the  Indian  camp  the  whole  wild 
scene  stamped  itself  upon  Onoqua's  vision  with  a 
vividness  that  left  its  impress  for  years.  The  un 
couth,  half  savage  attitudes  of  the  men,  the  women 
and  girls,  now  spectators  and  now  actors  in  the  scene 
and  full  of  boldness  in  voice  and  movement  forgetting 
all  that  makes  the  charm  of  womanhood,  came  back 
to  her  again  and  again. 


130  ONOQUA 

Ahsaniak,  too,  must  have  been  watching  them,  for 
when  the  camp  had  been  left  in  the  distance  she  drew 
near  to  her  companion. 

"0,  Onoqua,  I  wish  you'd  come  for  me  oftener," 
she  said.  "  I  wish  "  —  She  struck  the  reins  upon  her 
horse's  neck  and  the  creature  darted  away.  After 
she  had  waited  for  Onoqua  to  come  up,  she  was  silent 
a  long  time. 

The  two  young  men  watched  them  out  of  sight. 
"  Our  Indian  girls  are  smarter  than  the  white  girls, 
hey,  Cetangi?"  asked  Pejito.  "What  do  you  think 
of  Onoqua  now  ?  " 

Cetangi  made  him  no  answer. 


THE  THREAT  131 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    THREAT 

"I'VE  brought  him  back  to  you  safe,  Onoqua. 
He's  up  on  the  mountain  now.  I  took  care  of  him 
myself  because  he  was  your  horse." 

Onoqua  turned  suddenly  at  the  voice.  Pejito 
watching  her,  saw  a  sudden  light  in  her  eyes  and  a 
flush  on  her  cheek.  Was  this  gladness  to  have  re 
covered  Peyan  ?  As  she  stood  silent  a  moment  look 
ing  at  him,  there  was  an  eagerness  in  her  face,  and 
she  seemed  about  to  say  something  that  had  sprung 
to  her  lips  and  was  trembling  there.  The  young 
man's  face  glowed  in  answer.  He  smiled  his  kind 
est,  and  coming  a  step  nearer,  added,  "  Are  you 
going  home  now  ?  I'll  go  along  with  you.  I  want 
to  speak  to  you." 

Onoqua's  color  faded  into  pallor.  The  question 
that  had  trembled  on  her  lips  died  there.  Ask  this 
man  how  Cetangi  had  fared  ?  Yet  no  one  knew  as 
well  as  he.  Matoska  said  he  had  gone  off  in  the 
night.  He  said  also  that  Pejito  and  Kasde  had 
heard  the  sound  of  cavalry  in  the  distance  and  had 


132  ONOQUA 

gone  out  to  see  what  it  meant ;  lie  did  not  know  how 
long  they  had  been  gone,  nor  which  way  they  went. 
And  Matoska  knew  only  through  others.  Onoqua 
was  too  wise  to  arouse  suspicion  now  that  this  would 
do  no  good,  and  she  should  never  have  proof.  It 
might  not  be  as  she  feared,  but  here  was  the  man 
who  could  tell  her.  Yet  she  must  not  ask  him.  It 
would  be  fatal,  at  least  to  Cetangi  if  he  were  living. 
She  turned  away  from  the  door  of  her  schoolroom, 
for  this  autumn  the  day  school  had  been  given  to  her, 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  parents  and  the  great  de 
light  of  the  children.  She  was  trying  to  make  the 
best  of  her  time,  because  when  the  winter  came  the 
weather  would  be  too  severe  and  the  snows  too  deep 
for  a  time  to  permit  her  to  keep  up  even  the  sem 
blance  of  a  school. 

"  Thank  you  for  taking  care  of  Peyan  for  me, 
Pejito,"  she  answered.  "I  knew  I  could  trust  you 
to  do  it." 

"  Yes,"  returned  the  other.  "  You  can  trust  me 
a  great  deal  when  you  are  in  it,  Onoqua.  You  can 
trust  me  all  the  way." 

The  girl  glanced  at  him,  and  again  looked  down 
at  the  path  she  was  treading,  and  turned  the 
subject.  At  last  the  conversation  came  about  to 
Pejito's  brother  whom  she  was  teaching. 


THE   THREAT  133 

"  You  work  too  hard  in  that  school,"  pursued  her 
companion. 

"Oh,  no;  I  like  it.  I  don't  want  to  forget  my 
going  to  school,  and  the  things  I've  learned  there. 
I  wish  you  didn't,  either,  Pejito.  Why  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  went  to  school  only  two  years,"  he  answered. 

"  Yes.  But  why  didn't  you  go  longer  ?  Wouldn't 
Waha  let  you  ?  " 

He  laughed.  "  Waha  and  I,  we  fixed  it,"  he  said. 
He  could  not  endure  that  Onoqua  should  think  him 
ruled,  even  by  the  chief,  when  that  chief  was  his 
father.  "  We  have  power,"  he  went  on.  "  We're 
not  men  to  work  on  the  roads  and  in  the  gutters ;  we 
don't  dig  and  hoe." 

She  gave  him  an  explanation  of  white  men's  hopes 
and  purposes  toward  Indians,  taking  some  time  in 
doing  it.  He  listened  attentively.  "With  your  brains, 
you  need  not  dig  and  hoe,  if  you  shoulcf  do  as  white 
men  do,"  she  finished  with  a  smile  of  encouragement. 

He  turned  to  her  with  a  softening  of  his  face  that 
she  would  not  have  thought  possible.  "  You  like  my 
brains,  Onoqua  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  Pejito.  And  I  like  everybody  to  have 
brains  ;  and  especially  Indians.  We  all  need  as  much 
as  we  can  get." 


134  ONOQUA 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  open  face,  and 
laughed  dryly. 

"  You've  been  long  time  at  school/'  he  said. 
"You've  learned  white  women's  ways,  Onoqua. 
You're  not  caught  and  run  away  with,  and  that's  all. 
You  give  trouble."  Looking  down  at  her,  he 
pressed  closer.  "  You  know  Pejito  has  brains ; 
you  know  he  likes  that  thing  which  gives  him 
trouble  ;  he  despises  that  which  is  to  be  got  without 
his  skill.  He  likes  a  woman  that  knows  how  to 
answer  him,  how  to  please  him  with  her  wise  words. 
Pejito  is  real  Indian,  Onoqua,  he  likes  the  chase. 
Be  my  wife,  Onoqua,  little  one.  I  will  marry  you 
white  man's  way.  I  will  have  only  you  forever. 
I'm  proud  of  you,  Onoqua,  I  let  you  do  as  you  like. 
You  lift  me  up.  You  try  it,  my  little  one." 

The  girl  sprang  away  from  him.  Every  nerve 
quivered.  What !  he,  perhaps  the  murderer  of 
Cetangi  ?  She  believed  it  of  him  at  the  moment. 
She  convert  him  !  She  knew  him  too  well.  But  she 
would  not  have  been  woman  if  his  passion  for  her 
had  not  roused  a  momentary  pity  that  made  her  re 
fuse  to  deepen  pain  by  scorn. 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  live  differently,  glad 
to  help  you  all  I  could.  But,  Pejito,  God  sends  love 


THE  THREAT  185 

down  from  Heaven ;  and  He  has  not  sent  me  any  for 
you.  I  cannot  be  your  wife  ;  that  would  not  be  good 
for  you  or  me." 

"I  can  tell  best  what  is  good  for  me,  and  for  you,, 
too,"  responded  Pejito,  his  eyes  blazing.  "  I  have  no 
girl  tell  me  that." 

"  Neither  do  I  have  any  man  tell  me  what  is  best 
for  me,"  returned  the  girl  in  a  haughty  voice.  "  I 
thank  you  for  the  honor  of  your  offer ;  but  I  must 
decline." 

"That's  what  the  white  women  say,"  sneered  her 
hearer.  "  That's  the  end  of  all  your  school ;  you 
learn  to  despise  us,  you're  good  for  nothing,  spoiled 
with  white  women's  ways." 

She  bore  unflinchingly  his  furious  eyes. 

He  came  up  to  her  again  and  stood  a  moment,  fas 
cinated,  longing  to  claim  her  in  spite  of  herself,  yet 
held  back  by  the  will  that  was  confronting  him. 
And  as  he  looked,  his  breath  came  hotter ;  and  at  last, 
bringing  his  face  on  a  level  with  hers,  he  hissed,  — 

"You  shall  know  what'  I  feel.  Know  it  now, 
scornful.  Let  it  writhe  you  with  pain.  My  wish 
is  not  more  beyond  me  than  yours  beyond  you,  nor 
so  much.  I  can  crush  you  into  obedience.  .  But  you, 
—  watch  and  wait ;  watch  and  wait  forever." 


136  ONOQUA 

Onoqua's  eyes  had  grown  wild  with  horror.  She 
was  trembling  visibly.  As  Pejito  ceased,  he  drew 
back  and  turned  to  go  down  the  path  away  from  her. 

She  made  a  hasty  step  after  him,  and  cried  in  a 
voice  choked  with  agony,  "Pejito!  what  is  it?  Oh, 
Pejito,  one  moment!  Tell  me,  —  wait,  tell  me, — 
0,  Pejito,  what  is  it  ?  " 

For  the  young  man  looking  back  mockingly,  was  al 
ready  far  down  the  footpath  that  led  to  his  home. 
She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  with  a  low  wail. 
Pejito  had  killed  Cetangi ! 

In  face  of  this,  what  was  it  that  her  enemy  knew 
her  secret  ? 


WINTEK  137 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

WINTER 

BESIDE  a  fire  in  a  wretched  tepee  one  day  in 
November  were  two  girls.  One  wrapped  in  bed  cov 
erings  little  better  than  rags,  cowered  in  a  shivering 
silence  broken  only  by  the  few  words  that  came  from 
her  gaspingly  as  she  watched  her  companion  who 
with  hand  clasped  in  hers  had  been  talking  softly  to 
her  and  at  last  singing  the  songs  of  which  poor  Cenee 
was  so  fond.  But  the  singer  saw  that  the  other  had 
had  enough,  for  she  was  too  weak  even  to  listen  a 
long  time  together,  and  she  began  to  draw  her  hand 
away  gently  and.  to  say  good-by,  speaking  low  in  the 
hope  that  Cenee  would  fall  asleep  in  the  peace  of  the 
music.  But  the  other  opened  her  eyes,  and  before 
releasing,  held  her  hand  more  firmly. 

"Come  to-morrow,  Onoqua,"  she  said.  "I  want 
to  see  you  to-morrow ;  I  want  you  to  sing  to  me.  The 
sisters  don't  sing  like  you.  They  say  the  angels  will 
sing  better ;  but  I  shall  not  like  it  so  much,  because 
I  know  you." 

Onoqua  bent  over  her  and  stroked  back  the  dying 


138  ONOQUA 

girl's  heavy,  damp  hair,  and  promised  to  come  again 
the  next  day.  Cenee  smiled  back  at  her  and  closed 
her  eyes  and  nestled  a  little,  as  if  she  were  now  prepar 
ing  to  sleep.  Onoqua  slipped  away. 

But  as  she  turned,  a  form  filled  the  doorway.  It 
was  one  of  the  sisters  from  the  mission  school  on  the 
hill  come  to  see  how  Cenee  was  that  day,  and  whether 
the  time  had  come  for  the  last  visit  of  the  priest. 

"You're  always  doing  good,"  she  said  holding  out 
her  hand  to  Onoqua." 

"  I  try  to  help,"  answered  the  girl  as  she  took  it. 
"  They  are  my  own  people,  and  I  thank  you  for  help 
ing  them."  The  nun  looked  at  her  earnestly  with 
out  speaking.  "  Cenee  is  failing, "  Onoqua  went  on 
in  English,  and  added  an  account  of  the  change  she 
had  found  in  her  since  seeing  her  two  days  before. 

Sister  Constance  stood  listening  to  her  and  still 
watching  her  closely.  As  Onoqua  finished  and  was 
turning  away  with  a  courteous  word,  the  other  sighed 
softly. 

"  Ah,  Onoqua,  I  wish  you  were  one  of  us ;  you  are 
too  good  and  noble  not  to  be  in  the  fold.  Think  of  it, 
my  dear  child,  think  of  it." 

The  picture  of  a  frightened  child  roused  in  the 
night  to  listen  to  threats  of  horror  against  her  if  she 


WINTER  139 

did  not  yield  to  this  power  that  was  now  so  softly 
wooing  her,  of  a  gloomy  spring  morning,  a  wagon  but 
scantily  filled  with  the  children  who  had  dared  these 
terrors,  of  a  raging  mother  inflamed  by  this  same 
power,  of  escape  and  years  of  happiness,  rose  up  in 
Onoqua's  memory.  She  looked  at  the  speaker  with 
a  faint  smile,  for  she  perceived  the  humor  of  the 
situation.  She  knew  now  the  part  that  Brother  Sebas 
tian  had  played  personally  in  that  affair,  and,  justly  or 
not  she  would  never  know,  she  connected  it  with  his 
change  of  place  the  following  year. 

"  It  is  the  same  God  that  we  all  pray  to,"  she 
answered.  "And  there  is  so  much  to  be  done.  But 
Cenee  is  watching  for  you.  I  must  not  keep  you." 
For  at  the  sound  of  voices  the  restless  eyes  had 
opened  wide. 

The  nun  fingered  her  beads  as  she  looked  after 
Onoqua's  light  figure  speeding  over  the  snow-cov 
ered  ground.  But  her  heart  was  wiser  than  her 
creed,  and  by  no  casuistry  could  it  make  her  be 
lieve  this  girl  one  of  the  lost.  To  be  sure,  it  could 
only  be  a  miracle  which  could  save ;  but  this  would 
be  wrought,  at  some  time,  in  some  way.  She  would 
pray  that  it  might  be  by  her  means.  And  this  duty 
she  by  no  means  neglected. 


140  ONOQUA 

"  I'll  get  it  out  of  them,"  said  Hines. 

"  Used  to  getting  things  out  of  them,"  whispered 
Newman. 

Hines  swept  his  eyes  from  clerk  to  agent,  and 
asked,  "You  say  they  wouldn't  give  you  any  idea 
who  he  was  ?  " 

"  Said  in  effect  it  was  their  affair.  But  they  seem 
to  have  quieted  down  after  their  dance;  we  can't 
question  too  closely.  We  must  give  them  their  own 
way  sometimes." 

"Especially  when  we've  nothing  else  for  them." 

"No  joking  matter.  The  supplies  must  be  very 
late,  they  were  so  long  in  starting;  and  the  bitter 
weather  is  " — 

• 

"On  time,"  laughed  Hines  pulling  up  the  collar 
of  his  great  coat  as  he  stood  facing  the  north  wind, 
having  just  met  the  agent  going  into  the  store. 
"  There's  one  of  them  now,"  he  added,  breaking  in 
upon  Winder's  proposal  to  send  a  few  more  of  the 
Indians  logging  to  keen  them  in  the  only  work  there 
was  for  them.  "  Hold  on  a  minute ;  he  talks  English 
a  little.  I'll  get  it  out  of  him  in  a  jiffy ;  it's  a  way  I 
have."  He  knocked  on  the  pane,  and  beckoned. 
"  Good-day,  Waha,"  he  began  as  this  summons 
had  been  reluctantly  obeyed.  "I  called  you  to 


WINTER  141 

ask  you  about  hauling  some  wood  for  me;  I  want 
it  for  my  own  house,  I'll  pay  you  for  it  at  once." 
He  then  went  into  explanation  of  amount  and  quality, 
talking  with  a  certain  jocoseness  and  promise  of 
making  the  work  worth  while,  to' which  the  Indian  re 
sponded  by  few  words.  "I  suppose  you've  finished 
your  dances  for  the  present,  Waha,  and  can  go  to 
work  ?  "  he  asked,  looking  at  him  smilingly. 

"  I  can  go  to  work,"  responded  Waha,  "  if  you  give 
me  the  money." 

"  No  fear  of  your  missing  that  when  you've  earned 
it." 

"I  might  owe  it  to  you,"  returned  the  Indian,  fix 
ing  the  trader  for  an  instant  with  his  eyes. 

"No,  you  owe  me  almost  nothing  now.  You  paid 
it  all  last  month."  Waha's  eyes  passed  from  the 
speaker  to  the  agent,  and  the  former  went  on  lightly, 
"  By  the  way,  Waha,  who  was  that  stranger  that  has 
been  here  among  the  tribe  ?  I've  seen  him  sometimes." 

u  That's  Cetangi.  He  went  to  school  with  Mahaka. 
He  not  much  Indian,  mostly  white  man." 

"  0,  no,  no ;  I  know  Cetangi.  I  don't  mean  him. 
But  who  was  that  strange  man  in  Indian  dress  that 
came  and  went  away  again,  and  then  came  back  ?  I 
never  got  a  good  look  at  him,  he  had  such  a  queer 
way  of  disappearing,  —  who  was  he,  Waha  ?  " 


142  ONOQUA 

The  Indian's  face  darkened.  Silently  he  came  up 
to  the  trader  with  an  expression  that  made  the  other 
draw  back  involuntarily.  "What  you  want  to  know 
about  him  ?  He  not  owe  you  money  ?  " 

The  two  auditors  roared.  Waha  looked  from  one 
to  the  other.  "  You  got  all  the  wood  you  want  now  ?  " 
he  asked,  looking  at  Hines. 

"  No,  no/'  he  answered,  rallying.  "  Of  course  not, 
Waha." 

Without  another  word  the  Indian  turned  and 
stalked  away. 

But  his  scorn  penetrated  through  all  Newman's 
toughness  of  fibre.  Waha's  higher  business  standard 
impressed  him.  Was  it  so  strange  that  Indians  were 
slow  to  appreciate  the  white  man  ?  Hines  had  had 
the  worst  of  it.  He  fell  in  the  clerk's  estimation. 

Pejito  was  the  only  Indian  who  answered  the  tra 
der's  inquiries  with  anything  but  gruffness,  and  Pejito 
looked  him  in  the  eyes  and  assured  him  that  the 
stranger  was  the  best  friend  of  the  Indians  because 
he  had  come  to  teach  them  more  of  the  white  man's 
religion.  All  the  Indians  were  proud  to  have  Inyan- 
boslahan  visit  them.  Now  he  had  gone  south. 

When  Newman  boasted  that  Pejito  had  told  the 
stranger's  name,  and  that  he  was  a  missionary,  the 


WINTER  143 

other  Indians  made  no  answer.     He  could  not  be  sure 
that  they  cared  that  the  matter  had  come  out. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  it  was  not  until  the  begin 
ning  of  another  winter  that  the  white  man  upon  this 
reservation  learned  the  errand  of  the  Messenger,  or 
even  his  name. 

It  was  the  winter  of  1888  and  1889.  In  a  climate 
where  the  thermometer  is  capable  of  sliding  down  to 
sixty  below  zero,  and  has  a  way  of  keeping  itself  in 
practice,  even  in  comparatively  mild  winters,  only 
abundance  of  food,  clothing,  and  fuel  can  keep  warmth 
in  the  blood.  Onoqua  was  not  the  only  Indian  who 
cared  for  the  sick  and  ministered  to  the  needs  of  all 
so  far  as  she  could,  but  she  was  the  leader  of  them. 
Mr.  Griswald  found  them  efficient  aids ;  but  there 
were  too  few  and  they  were  far  too  poor.  His  wife, 
and  among  his  little  congregation,  Mrs.  Winder,  la 
bored  untiringly.  But  the  one  was  often  needy  her 
self,  and  the  agent's  wife,  aside  from  her  domestic 
cares,  was  embarrassed  by  her  position.  She  found 
so  many  things  that  ought  to  be  complained  of  and 
righted  and  that  still  went  on  in  the  same  old  way  in 
spite  of  all  her  efforts,  that  she  often  groaned  in 
spirit.  "  They  think  I  ought  to  help  them,  and  I 
can't,"  she  would  complain  to  her  husband. 


144  OXOQUA 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  let  it  all  alone  ?  "  he  would 
answer.  "  You're  not  Indian  agent." 

"No;  but  I'm  God's." 

And  then  Mr.  Winder  would  clear  his  throat  and 
have  some  errand  down  to  the  store,  or  some  work  in 
his  office.  Or  sometimes  he  would  bring  forward  a 
list  of  Indian  offences,  the  first  and  last  of  which 
would  be  laziness. 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  set  them  at  work,  George  ?  " 
she  would  ask  as  innocently  as  if  she  did  not  know 
that  he  was  at  his  wits'  end  to  find  even  the  scanty 
supply  of  that  commodity  indispensable  to  civiliza 
tion  which  he  assumed  to  keep  on  hand.  He  himself 
could  not  have  raised  much  on  their  farms,  and  they 
could  cut  only  a  little  timber  at  a  time  because  they 
were  so  far  from  the  railroad. 

"There  goes  another  spoiled  Indian,"  said  Hines 
one  day  as  Mahaka  lounged  past.  "  When  that  fel 
low  came  home  first  he  shoed  a  horse  as  well  as  I 
should  care  to  see.  He  was  on  the  road  to  make  a 
first  class  workman.  Now,  look  at  him  rusting  out ; 
just  the  stuff  for  the  medicine  men  and  the  bucks  to 
prey  upon.  Why  can't  he  go  off  and  find  something 
to  do,  you  say,  Newman  ?  Oh,  well,  he  wants  to  have 
it  put  into  him,  Most  men  are  like  clocks  ;  they'll  go 


WINTER  145 

well  enough  if  you  wind  them  up.  Why  should  we 
expect  of  Mahaka  what  so  many  white  fellows  with  a 
white  man's  past  behind  them  wouldn't  do  unless  the 
white  man's  present  was  about  them,  and  the  white 
man's  scorn  of  idleness  nagging  at  them  ?  The  black 
smith's  place  here  was  filled  when  Mahaka  came 
home.  Arid  by  the  time  it's  vacant,  mark  my  words, 
he  won't  want  it." 

In  face  of  such  discouragements  Orioqua's  own 
hardships  were  light  to  her.  Maukeeneet  was  her 
greatest  comfort ;  the  two  had  grown  to  be  sisters  in 
affection  as  they  were  in  blood.  To  Onoqua's  aston 
ishment,  the  girl  kept  on  with  her  painting  ;  she  made 
many  daubs,  but  she  painted  some  things  that  the 
other  thought  well  done  ;  and  she  certainly  gained  in 
perception  of  form  and  coloring.  And  then,  the  work 
was  so  safe  in  this  place  where  Onoqua's  innocent 
eyes  saw  many  dangers.  She  was  so  glad  that  she 
had  taken  painting  lessons  at  school  and  could  show 
Maukeeneet  something,  although  the  younger  sister 
distanced  her  in  performance.  Why  would  not  Mau 
keeneet  go  to  school  ? 


146  ONOQUA 


CHAPTEE  XIX 

IN    THE    STORM 

IT  was  a  fearful  night  in  January.  The  wind 
swept  through  the  valley  in  a  hurricane,  driving  the 
snow  before  it  until  the  air  as  well  as  the  ground 
seemed  one  great  winding  sheet ;  the  cold  stung  like 
needles ;  to  find  one's  way  anywhere,  to  keep  one's 
bearings  on  such  a  night  seemed  impossible.  Onoqua 
peering  out  into  the  storm,  was  glad  to  shut  the  door 
again  in  haste.  Nothing  could  live  outside,  she  said 
to  herself,  except  the  storm.  She  threw  more  wood 
upon  the  fire  and  sat  down  beside  it  once  more.  Ma- 
toska  was  snoring  in  the  corner,  Mahaka  had  wrapped 
himself  in  his  blanket  and  travelled  into  dreamland, 
Tahnas  with  her  youngest  child  in  her  arms  was  fast 
asleep  on  the  floor,  and  the  other  two  children  hud 
dled  together  in  one  corner,  would  know  nothing  of 
the  wind  and  snow  until  the  next  day. 

Onoqua  could  not  sleep.  All  losses  and  all  longings 
crowded  upon  her.  The  old  happy  school  days  came 
back  to  her,  the  days  when  everybody  about  her  had 
enough  to  wear  and  enough  to  eat,  when  those  who 


IN   THE   STORM  147 

were  ill  were  cared  for,  when  comfort  and  what  would 
now  seem  the  greatest  luxuries  were  to  be  had  every 
day. 

But  •  deepest  of  all  was  that  haunting  fear.  She 
could  not  trust  Mahaka's  discretion  enough  even  to  con 
fide  it  to  him,  especially  as  he  lived  chiefly  with  Nau- 
matin.  But  day  and  night  she  wondered  what  had  be 
come  of  Cetangi.  For  after  the  first  shock  of  Pejito's 
threat  had  passed  off,  she  would  not  be  sure  that  he 

had  done  more  than  try  to  terrify  her.     Since  Cetangi 

* 

had  been  warned,  he  had  perhaps  escaped,  even  if 
they  had  pursued  him.  Over  and  over  she  told  her 
self  this.  And  yet,  there  was  the  horror  never  dead 
within  her  heart.  For  if  Cetangi  had  really  escaped, 
why  had  he  not  written  to  Mahaka  ?  He  must  have 
known  that  one  who  has  visited  ought  to  write.  She 
had  made  her  brother  write  to  him.  But  there  had 
been  no  answer. 

Only  to  know  that  he  was  safe  ! 

The  flames  began  to  dance  with  blurred  outlines 
before  her  eyes  until  tears  fell  upon  the  hand  lying 
in  her  lap.  Listening  to  the  storm  she  seemed  to  see 
Cetangi  lying  in  the  river,  or  somewhere  on  that 
dreary  plain  with  the  snow  heaping  mounds  above 
him. 


148  ONOQUA 

Was  it  the  wind  that  suddenly  rattled  the  door,  and 
fell  ? 

No,  the  sound  came  once  more  in  the  lull  before  the 
next  blast  hurled  itself  against  the  house. 

Some  one  was  there. 

The  hour,  the  storm,  the  thoughts  that  had  just 
filled  her  mind  suggested  to  Onoqua's  quick  imagina 
tion  something  uncanny.  Was  she  going  to  see  Ce. 
tangi,  and  not  in  the  flesh  ? 

A  third  algempt  decided  her.  No  human  being 
should  ask  shelter  in  vain.  Whoever  knocked,  she 
must  open  the  door  on  such  a  night. 

No  sooner  had  she  done  this,  than  a  figure  rushed 
past  her  and  fell  rather  than  crouched  on  the  hearth 
before  the  fire. 

The  snow-covered  garments,  torn  in  places  by  the 
wind,  the  shawl  blown  back  from  the  bare  head  and 
helping  to  muffle  the  face  that  tried  to  bury  itself  in 
it,  the  despair,  the  exhaustion  of  the  attitude,  in  utter 
contrast  to  everything  that  she  had  known  before, 
even  the  impossibility  of  the  thing,  made  Onoqua  at 
first  doubt  her  recognition  of  this  strange  guest.  As 
she  turned  from  closing  the  door,  and  came  back  to 
the  fire,  the  girl  with  a  trembling  hand  held  back  the 
mass  of  wet  hair  that  had  fallen  over  her  face  and 
glanced  up  timidly. 


IN  THE  sTomi  149 

"  Ahsaniak  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  her  name  she  crouched  again,  and 
the  terrified  look  of  a  hunted  creature  was  in  her  eyes. 
Only  the  dumb  agony  in  those  eyes  implored  for  help. 

Onoqua  knelt  beside  her  and  gathered  up  her  hair, 
wringing  the  water  out  of  it  as  she  coiled  it.  "Poor 
child  !  "  she  said  softly.  "  What  a  terrible  thing  to 
have  been  out  in  this  storm.  Were  you  away  some 
where  ?  Did  you  try  to  get  home  ?  But  first  I'll 
give  you  some  dry  things.  Come  with  me  ;  we  will 
not  wake  the  others.7' 

And  she  pointed  to  a  corner  cut  off  from  the  main 
room,  in  part  by  rough  boarding,  in  part  by  a  curtain 
of  cotton  flannel  that  she  had  brought  with  her  from 
her  school.  The  closet  thus  made  was  her  own  domain 
respected  as  such  by  all  the  family,  and  it  was  an  in 
estimable  comfort  to  her. 

But  Ahsaniak  did  not  rise.  She  drew  away  her 
head  from  Onoqua' s  touch.  "  How  did  it  happen  ?  ;' 
she  repeated.  "  Did  I  try  to  get  home  ?  I  was  at 
home  ;  I  haven't  any  home ;  they  turned  me  out,  — 
out  into  the  storm  because  I  was  so  wicked.  I  have 
disgraced  them.  I  was  going  to  die  and  then  I  saw 
your  light,  and  I  don't  know  how  I  came.  It  will  dis 
grace  you  to  have  me  here.  0  Onoqua,  let  me  go.  I 


150  ONOQUA 

am  wicked  ;  you'd  better  let  me  go."  The  words  ended 
in  a  moan.  Physical  force  had  failed  the  girl. 

Dry  clothing,  the  blazing  fire,  a  cup  of  tea,  and  food 
revived  Ahsaniak  who  had  had  a  chill  so  that  her  face 
was  deadly  pale  and  her  teeth  chattered. 

Tahnas  roused  in  the  added  warmth,  looked  a  mo 
ment  sleepily  at  Ahsaniak  when  Onoqua  explained 
that  she  had  been  lost  in  the  storm,  and  turning  over, 
went  to  sleep  again. 

The  girls  were  left  alone  once  more.  When  Ahsa 
niak  was  lying  on  the  bed  in  Onoqua's  room,  she  said 
piteously,  "  You  don't  know  how  wicked  I  am.  Why 
should  you  do  all  this  to-night,  Onoqua?  To-morrow 
you  will  turn  me  out  into  the  snow." 

"No,  Ahsaniak."  And  then,  "How  wicked  have 
you  been  ?  Tell  me  all." 

"  I  saw  you  through  the  window  as  I  came  up.  But 
I  would  never  have  knocked  if  it  had  not  been  for 
that  night  at  the  camp.  It  was  Sasalm  that  brought 
it  all  about  this  evening.  She  rules  in  the  house  now. 
But  what  difference  did  it  make  ?  I  am  too  wicked 
to  live.  I  have  disgraced  them  all ;  I  must  die  ;  it  is 
not  too  late  now.  I  will  go  out  into  the  storm  again." 
She  sprang  up,  and  Onoqua's  firm  hand  put  her  back 
upon  the  bed.  "  If  I  could  have  kept  my  dress.  Ono- 


IN   THE   STORM  151 

qua,  I  should  have  lived  in  a  different  way.  You 
wouldn't  wear  the  Indian  dress;  you  tried  and 
couldn't.  But  I  had  to;  I  hadn't  any  other.  That 
man  at  the  agency  cheated  my  father.  They  always 
do ;  we're  only  Indians,  it  isn't  any  use  to  think  of 
anything.  But  I  didn't  mean  it  when  I  came  home 
from  school." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  stroking  her  hair  with 
gentle  touch.  For  the  first  time  it  occurred  to  her 
that  she  might  not  have  done  wisely  in  refusing  Mr. 
Caisson's  offer.  If  she  had  gone  to  school  again,  Waha 
might  have  allowed  Ahsaniak  to  go,  too.  And  had 
she  done  as  much  good  here  as  her  one  act  of  taking 
Ahsaniak  from  her  temptations  would  have  been? 
She  sighed,  then  she  thought  of  Maukeeneet.  But 
Maukeeneet  might  have  followed  her. 

"  I  always  knew  Howaxte  was  a  hundred  times  better 
than  Kasde,"  Ahsaniak  went  on,  "but  I  was  angry 
and  wicked.  I  was  determined  to  be  pure  Indian, 
since  they  wouldn't  give  me  a  chance  to  be  anything 
else,  and  Howaxte  wasn't  so.  He  didn't  like  it  in  me. 
But,  Onoqua,  he  liked  me  in  spite  of  it,  I  could  see 
that,  and  somehow,  I  thought  that  some  day  I  would 
try  to  please  him  again."  Her  words  ended  in  a  sob. 
"  My  father  has  driven  me  off,  he  told  me  never  to 


152  OKOQTJA 

speak  to  him,  never  to  look  him  in  the  face  again," 
she  went  on  after  a  heart-broken  pause ;  "  and  I  never 
will.  And  Pejito,  O,  Onoqua,  he  was  terrible.  He 
pierced  me  through  and  through  by  the  sword  of  his 
words.  I  will  never  see  Pejito  again.  I  must  die. 
There's  no  place  for  me  to  live." 

"  Yes,  Ahsaniak,  you  may  live  here.  My  father  will 
not  turn  you  out  of  doors.  Don't  be  afraid  of  it." 

"  If  I  had  been  only  Indian  woman,"  moaned  the 
other,  "I  could  turn  back  from  that.  But  I've  dis 
graced  the  Indians.  They  will  not  have  me  among 
them.  Matoska  will  not  let  me  stay  with  you.  You 
will  not  have  me  yourself.  You  must  listen,  Onoqua. 
No,  I  mustn't  wait  till  to-morrow." 

And  with  perfect  truthfulness  Ahsaniak  gave  her 
the  history  of  the  past  year.  She  told  of  the  reckless 
ness  which  had  often  been  assumed,  of  the  hardness 
which  she  had  used  as  a  cloak  for  her  regrets  and  her 
sufferings,  of  the  despair  that  had  driven  her  on,  and 
the  pride  and  fear  of  ridicule  that  would  not  let  her 
turn  back ;  of  her  jealousy  of  Onoqua's  possessions 
that  had  kept  her  from  fleeing  to  her  when  she  might 
have  been  saved.  Now  it  was  too  late ;  she  was  lost 
in  sin  ;  none  of  her  family  would  ever  see  her  again  ; 
they  were  right.  They  had  put  her  out  to  die  in  the 


IN   THE   STORM  153 

storm,  and  she  ought  to  have  done  it.  She  had  not 
meant  to  try  to  find  shelter ;  she  had  wandered,  and 
her  wandering  had  led  her  here. 

"  It  was  God  who  led  you  here,  Ahsaniak." 

"  God  ?  "  cried  the  girl.  "  Oh,  no,  He  would  not 
look  at  me ;  He  is  angrier  than  my  father.  I  came 
across  the  river,  Oiioqua.  In  the  bend  the  ice  was  all 
broken  and  piled  up,  and  it  was  open  water.  I  al 
most  slipped  through  in  one  place.  I  ought  to  have 
gone  under.  If  only  I  had." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Through  it  there  came 
a  sob  from  Onoqua. 

Lying  on  the  narrow  bed  beside  the  girl,  she  put  her 
arms  about  her,  and  when  Ahsaniak's  trembling 
ceased  a  little,  whispered  a  verse  from  her  Bible 
about  the  love  of  God. 

The  morning  light  found  Ahsaniak  asleep  in  her 
arms. 


154  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  XX 

CETANGl's    RIDE 

CETANGI  walked  back  to  the  camp  with  Pejito  and 
threw  himself  down  again  in  the  same  attitude  that 
Onoqua  had  found  him  in.  It  seemed  as  if  again 
that  vision  must  glide  into  the  midst  of  the  dance, 
and  as  if  the  wildest  there  would  feel  the  power  of 
that  earnest  face  and  that  clear  voice.  Her  grace, 
her  refinement  which  he  had  always  felt,  stood  out  to 
him  now  in  contrast  with  the  old  life  with  which  she 
had  no  sympathy.  He  was  not  afraid  of  Pejito,  and 
he  was  wonderfully  glad  to  owe  his  life  to  Onoqua. 
She  had  scored  two  victories  that  night,  she  had 
saved  two  lives.  He  had  —  looked  on. 

He  rose  impatiently.  "  Where  are  you  going^  ?  " 
asked  a  voice  in  his  ear.  He  had  thought  Pejito  the 
other  side  of  the  camp,  and  so  he  had  been  the 
moment  before. 

"  I'm  going  to  stretch  myself,  and  then  find  a  more 
comfortable  place  to  turn  in;  I'm  not  going  to  dance," 
he  returned  scornfully.  "Where's  the  quietest  cor 
ner  ?  Pick  it  out  for  me,  won't  you  ?  " 


CETANGl's   RIDE  155 

"Look  out  for  yourself."  And  Pejito  turned  on 
his  heel.  Cetangi  looked  after  him  with  a  scowl.  It 
was  not  going  to  be  so  easy  to  get  away,  then.  The 
lynx  eyes  of  his  enemy  would  not  be  so  absorbed  in 
the  dance  as  to  forget  him. 

"  I'll  try  it  under  that  tree,  and  don't  let  me  over 
sleep,"  he  called  after  Pejito. 

"If  I  don't  forget  you,"  retorted  the  other,  not 
looking  back  as  he  moved  off.  Cetangi's  resting- 
place  had  been  as  near  the  horses  as  he  had  dared  to 
make  it.  And  as  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  which  he 
had  not  discarded  for  travelling,  he  lay  down  just 
outside  one  of  the  fires,  youth  and  health  and  nature 
asserted  themselves  over  not  only  all  the  wild  tumult 
about  him,  but  the  consciousness  of  personal  danger, 
and  the  sleep  that  he  had  been  feigning  came  to  him. 

When  he  awoke  the  dance  was  at  its  height.  But 
he  remembered  Pejito's  eyes,  and  resisted  his  first 

impulse  to  sit  up  and  look  about  him.     To  steal  away 

i 

himself  in  the  shadows  of  the  firelight  would  be  com 
paratively  easy ;  but  to  get  his  horse  was  another 
thing.  If  he  had  only  been  trained  an  Indian  horse 
thief  before  his  days  of  civilization,  how  easily  he 
might  have  captured  his  own  beast,  he  thought  with 
grim  amusement. 


156  ONOQUA 

He  walked  quietly  to  the  next  tree,  keeping  well  in 
the  shadow.  There  was  no  evidence  that  he  had  been 
seen.  He  took  the  next  with  the  same  result. 

At  the  third  he  caught  sight  of  Pejito's  face  turned 
in  his  direction  with  an  intentness  of  attitude ;  he 
had  stopped  dancing. 

Cetangi  picked  up  a  huge  dead  branch  lying  just 
beyond  him,  carried  it  back,  and  threw  it  on  the  fire. 
The  flames  crackled  up  into  the  sky  and  lighted  all 
around. 

Kasde  cried  out,  "  Wood  for  this  one,  too." 

"  Take  care  of  your  own  fires,"  retorted  Cetangi. 
"  I'll  keep  up  mine.  I  don't  pick  up  your  wood  for 
you  to  dance  by.  It's  bad  enough  to  keep  a  fellow 
awake  all  night  without  setting  him  drudging.  It's 
as  much  as  I  want  to  take  care  of  one  fire." 

"  Shall  we  set  him  in  here  ?  "  asked  Kasde  in  an 
undertone  of  Pejito.  "  If  he  fights,  that'll  be  the  end 
of  him ;  there'll  be  no  need  of  waiting  for  to-morrow." 

But  Pejito,  the  wary,  had  a  reason  that  Kasde 
could  not  fathom  for  hesitating  over  this  bird  in  the 
hand.  Onoqua  would  surely  learn  of  such  treatment 
of  her  brother's  guest.  She  was  not  a  girl  to  be  wooed 
with  a  scalp  in  his  belt,  and  that  scalp  Cetangi's. 
And  Pejito  smiled  in  pride  as  he  perceived  how 
impossible  it  would  be  to  sell  Onoqua, 


CETANGl'S   RIDE  157 

"Let  him  alone,"  he  answered.  "I  have  planned 
it ;  you  can't  make  it  better." 

And  Kasde,  with  his  respect  for  Pejito's  brains, 
went  back  to  his  place  again. 

Cetangi  sat  himself  down  to  enjoy  the  blaze  his 
branch  was  making,  and  when  this  had  died  down  he 
went  for  and  threw  on  another.  What  did  he  care 
that  Pejito  was  watching  him,  or  if  all  the  party  left 
their  amusement  for  the  purpose  ?  He  leaned  his 
back  against  a  tree  and  closed  his  eyes,  not  as  if 
feigning  sleep,  but  courting  it.  Again  the  fire  died 
down,  and  again  he  went  in  search  of  more  wood. 

But  this  time  the  branches  were  farther  off;  in 
deed,  they  were  so  far  off  that  Cetangi  must  have 
been  lost  in  looking  for  them,  for  he  never  came 
back.  He  had  seen  that  Pejito  had  relaxed  his  watch 
fulness  somewhat. 

He  led  away  his  horse,  skirting  round  on  the  edge 
of  a  bog  where  the  moss  deadened  the  hoof  falls. 

Then,  mounting,  he  galloped  for  his  life.  He 
should  have  a  good  half  hour's  start,  whoever  pur 
sued.  The  nearest  station  on  the  railroad  was  almost 
twenty  miles  away;  he  knew  the  general  direction, 
and  civilization  had  not  deadened  his  Indian  instinct 
as  to  finding  his  way.  A  train  went  through  there 


158  ONOQUA 

some  time  in  the  morning.  If  he  hit  that,  there  was 
no  fear  of  pursuit.  But  now  that  he  had  shown  his 
consciousness  of  danger,  he  would  rather  not  be  de 
tained  on  the  way.  He  rode  on  and  on,  growing  more 
assured  as  he  heard  no  sound  of  pursuers.  But  for  all 
this,  he  went  forward  as  fast  as  possible. 

Pejito's  watchfulness  had  relaxed  only  with  his 
greater  absorption  in  the  dance,  and  this  had  grown 
into  a  kind  of  frenzy  with  the  yielding  to  it,  when  a 
voice  in  his  ear  brought  him  to  himself  instantly. 

"  What's  become  of  Cetangi  ?  "  whispered  Kasde. 

"Oh,  he's  safe  enough,"  returned  Pejito.  But  he 
immediately  suspended  his  dancing  to  look  in  all 
directions,  sweepingly  at  first  as  if  the  answer  were 
easy  to  prove,  then  with  a  peering  gaze  into  every 
recess  of  the  encampment,  and  as  far  as  possible  into 
the  wood  where,  except  in  the  direction  in  which  the 
horses  were,  he  saw  nothing.  Then,  quitting  the 
circle,  he  and  Kasde  made  a  thorough  search,  for  it 
was  possible,  they  said,  that  Cetangi  had  gone  off  a 
little  distance  to  find  the  sleep  that  he  could  not  get 
here.  As  it  became  evident  that  the  young  man  had 
really  gone,  the  other  questioned  if  it  had  been  merely 
in  disgust  at  the  dance,  or  if  he  had  any  suspicion 
of  his  danger  ?  Had  he  been  warned  ?  Kasde  sug- 


CETANGI'S   RIDE  159 

gested  Onoqua.  "  Impossible,"  answered  Pejito.  "  I 
was  with  them  every  minute.  And  if  I'd  not  been, 
how  should  Onoqua  have  known  ?  Mahaka  doesn't, 
nor  Matoska.  I  looked  out  for  that.  He's  struck  for 
the  railroad,  Kasde.  But  he  shall  not  escape  us.  We 
shall  find  him  there  before  the  train  goes.  Come." 

Cetangi  riding  on  in  the  morning  gloaming,  which 
found  him  only  three  or  four  miles  from  the  station, 
noticed  all  at  once  that  his  horse  turned  his  ears  back 
and  forth  restlessly,  as  if  something  had  caught  his 
attention.  He  stopped,  and  springing  down,  laid  his 
ear  to  the  ground. 

The  tramp  of  horses ! 


160  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PURSUIT 

THE  sound  was  distant,  but  unmistakable.  His 
life  depended  upon  his  catching  the  train ;  simply  to 
reach  the  station  wou-ld  not  be  enough.  He  sprang 
into  the  saddle  again  and  went  on.  The  advantage 
of  distance  was  not  so  much  as  it  seemed,  since  he  had 
to  find  his  way,  and  his  pursuers  only  to  follow  him. 

He  went  on  and  on. 

But  had  they  fleeter  horses  behind,  or  had  the  rest 
made  them  fresher,  or  had  his  flight  been  discovered 
much  sooner  than  he  had  supposed?  It  was  too 
evident  that  they  were  gaming  upon  him.  Nothing 
was  in  sight,  but  the  sounds  were  more  distinct. 

At  last,  far  in  the  distance,  the  railroad  running 
east  and  west.  But  on  which  side  of  the  station  had  he 
struck  the  track,  east  or  west  ?  Which  way  must  he 
go  to  reach  *it  ?  Nothing  told  him  this,  and  yet, 
God  help  him,  on  taking  the  right  way  his  life  de 
pended. 

He  came  close  and  stood  a  moment  looking  up  and 
down.  The  waiting  was  not  so  much  loss  as  to  go  in 


161 

the  wrong  direction  ever  so  little.  For  if  he  should 
do  this,  his  pursuers  when  they  struck  the  track, 
would  cut  off  his  retreat. 

Up  and  down  the  long  miles  of  iron  road,  nothing, 
not  a  sign  to  guide  him,  nothing  but  in  one  place  the 
shadow  of  a  bank  close  at  the  side. 

As  he  stood,  nearer  and  nearer  came  the  hoof  beats 
behind  him,  with  no  intervening  sounds  to  break 
these  on  the  hard  ground.  Cetangi  drew  his  revol 
ver,  examined  it,  cocked  it,  and  stood  waiting.  Flight 
was  of  no  use  in  this  uncertainty.  He  would  not  be 
shot  in  the  back,  he  would  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as 
possible.  Already,  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  saw  a 
dark  speck  on  the  horizon. 

All  through  his  ride  before  this  sudden  alarm,  he 
had  seemed  to  see  before  him  the  light  figure  in  the 
dark  blue  cloak  and  the  scarlet  cap,  and,  clearest  of 
all,  that  face  beautiful  in  its  purpose.  For  delicate 
outlines  and  beauty  of  feature  were  not  all  that  the 
young  man  had  caught  there  in  that  revelation  of 
Onoqua.  Once  he  had  brought  his  horse  to  a  stop 
with  the  determination  to  go  back  to  her  at  all  haz 
ards.  And  then  and  there  he  would  have  turned  and 
defied  Pejito's  treachery,  if  in  her  farewell  Onoqua 
had  thrown  but  one  touch  of  softness,  even  of  person- 


162  ONOQtJA 

ality.  But  he  was  "  a  human  life  "  which  she  had 
saved.  What  hope  was  there  in  that  ?  And  Cetangi 
had  gone  on  again.  And  now,  as  he  stood  facing 
death,  for  he  had  heard  the  hoofs  of  more  than  one 
horse  in  pursuit,  the  vision  of  Onoqua  came  back  to 
him.  He  hoped  that  his  last  thought  would  be  of  her, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  one  so  near  Heaven  as  not  to 
be  unfit  for  a  parting  from  earth,  one  from  which  he 
should  not  fear  to  turn  to  the  Saviour  in  whom  they 
both  believed. 

As  he  stood  there  holding  his  pistol  ready  for  the 
inevitable  attack,  determined  to  dispose  of  at  least  one 
of  his  assailants  before  the  others  should  despatch 
him,  and  in  no  uncertainty  as  to  who  this  one  should 
be,  the  sun  rose. 

What  was  that  mass  far  up  the  track  so  close 
against  it  ?  As  the  sun  struck  full  upon  it,  he  saw 
that  it  was  not  a  shadow  at  all,  but  a  hand  car  side 
tracked.  Then,  this  must  be  the  way  to  the  station. 

But  how  loud  the  sound  had  suddenly  grown. 
Could  they  have  gained  so  much  so  soon  ? 

Wild  with  a  sudden  thought,  he  threw  himself  on 
the  ground  again  and  listened. 

The  train ! 

It  was  rushing  on  at  full  speed.     Either  it  had 


PURSUIT  163 

passed  the  station  beyond  hearing,  or  it  was  flying 
on  toward  this. 

And  he  must  fly,  too.  He  must  keep  pace  with  it. 
It  was  his  only  chance  for  life. 

And  with  the  new  hope  of  it  life  grew  still  more 
dear.  He  thrust  his  revolver  into  his  belt  again, 
turned  his  horse  up  the  track,  and  the  animal  as  if 
scenting  danger,  sped  all  the  faster  for  his  moment's 
breathing  space. 

But  the  iron  horse  was  far  fleeter.  It  thundered 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  passed  him.  The  speck  on 
the  horizon  grew  larger  and  larger.  He  could  see 
that  the  pursuers  were  trying  to  head  him  off  before 
he  could  reach  the  station.  That  failure  to  strike 
the  track  higher  up,  and  that  delay,  would  cost  him 
dear. 

The  station  was  just  beyond  now.  The  train  was 
slowing.  He  was  too  far  behind.  He  had  signalled 
as  it  had  dashed  past  him.  But  at  his  wild  haste 
this  might  only  have  determined  the  engineer  to  delay 
as  little  as  possible. 

The  bell  was  ringing  before  he  reached  the  end  of 
the  long  train. 

The  flying  hoofs  dashed  along  the  platform,  Cetangi 
signalling  with  all  his  might.  The  conductor  negli- 


164  ONOQUA 

gently  or  wilfully,  was  looking  in  the  other  direction, 
and  stood  swinging  his  arm  vigorously  to  the  engi 
neer. 

Cetangi  glanced  over  his  shoulder  as  he  swept  on. 
Pejito  and  Kasde  were  within  shot. 

Then  it  was  that  something  happened  which  Ce 
tangi  in  his  cooler  moments  found  it  hard  to  believe 
that  he  could  do  over  again.  The  bell  was  losing 
itself  in  the  puffings  of  the  engine  when  he  came  to  the 
open  door  of  the  baggage  car.  Whether  he  goaded  his 
reeling  horse,  or,  springing  down,  half  dragged  him 
there,  he  could  not  well  remember.  But  what  he  did 
remember  well  was  that  when  that  train  was  fairly 
under  way,  he  and  this  same  brave  steed  of  his  were 
standing  in  the  baggage  car,  and  every  puff  of  the 
engine  was  carrying  him  into  safety. 

Civilization  had  conquered,  civilization  had  saved 
him  in  a  literal  sense  that  he  had  never  dreamed  of 
in  his  school  orations  upon  the  subject. 

But  the  train  had  come  none  too  soon.  For,  what 
was  that  sharp  report  that  had  rung  out  just  as  he 
was  springing  into  the  car  ?  What  was  this  sharp 
twinge  in  his  arm,  and  what  caused  the  blood  that 
he  soon  saw  on  his  sleeve  as  the  feeling  of  something 
warm  made  him  look  at  it  ? 


165 

It  was  a  mere  flesh  wound.  But  if  he  had  not 
moved  as  the  shot  left  the  gun,  the  ball  would  have 
kept  its  aim  in  his  heart. 

"  You  don't  know  how  to  hit,"  Pejito  said  angrily. 
"  Why  did  you  get  in  my  way  ?  I'd  have  finished 
him." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  haven't  ?  "  the  other  asked. 
"  Fin  as  good  a  shot  as  you,  Pejito."  And  the  eyes 
that  turned  on  the  caviller  made  him  remember  that 
he  had  too  much  to  do  to  quarrel  with  Kasde.  "  Re 
member  Wanigiska's  curse,"  the  speaker  went  on. 

"Yes,"  returned  Pejito  with  apparent  satisfaction, 
"  I  remember."  He  was  careful  not  to  add  his  greater 
faith  in  a  Winchester. 


166  ONOQTTA 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WORK 
"WORK?" 

"Yes,  sir,  work." 

"  And  on  harnesses.     Ever  made  a  harness  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.     And  sold  it,  too." 

"  Ah !    Did  you  get  a  good  price  for  it  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  very  good." 

"Price,  you  know,  is  the  test  of  work.  I  turn  off 
a  good  quality.  I  don't  want  to  cheapen  it." 

"  I  don't  want  to  do  cheap  work.  It  would  get  my 
hand  out." 

The  other  looked  at  him  more  closely.  "You 
worked  in  a  harness  shop  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

Another  pause.     "  You're  not  an  American  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Oh,  I  thought "  —  the  speaker  paused  again,  and 
looked  still  more  carefully  at  the  seeker  of  work. 

"  Where  did  you  work  ?  " 

The  young  man  named  several  places. 

"  And  you  learned  your  trade  at  the  Indian  school  ? 


167 

Then  you  must  be  an  Indian  ? "  And  the  short, 
stout,  elderly  man  surveyed  the  tall,  muscular  young 
man,  taking  in  his  straight  features,  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  erect  carriage,  glance  keen  and  steady,  com 
plexion  which  the  sun,  or  nature,  had  decidedly 
bronzed.  The  scrutiny  was  returned. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Cetangi. 

"  I  asked  if  you  were  an  American." 

The  listener  smiled  at  him.  "  Who  is,  if  I  am 
not  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure.  But,  then,  I  never  looked  at  it 
so.  Yes,  yes,  of  course  you're  an  American.  But, 
you  see,  we  never  think  of  Indians  doing  anything." 

"  Time  to  begin,"  answered  Cetangi. 

"  Time  for  which  to  begin  ?  "  with  the  frown  of  an 
autocrat. 

"  Both  of  us,  sir."  And  Cetangi  smiled  full  at  him 
with  a  gaze  so  appreciative  that  Mr.  Mathers  laughed. 

"I  rather  think  you're  right  there.  Have  you  a 
certificate  of  your  work  at  the  school  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ; "  and  Cetangi  showed  it. 

"Very  good  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Mathers.  "And 
now  tell  me  exactly  how  you  would  go  to  work  to 
make  a  first-class  harness.  How  would  you  select 


168  OXOQTJA 

the  stock  ?  "  He  stood  waiting  for  the  answer  with 
a  look  of  amusement  as  if  all  this  did  very  well  to 
talk  about,  but  an  Indian  for  a  workman  was  quite 
another  thing.  As  the  young  man  went  on,  however, 
he  looked  at  first  surprised,  then  fully  aroused,  until 
he  was  listening  with  the  keenest  interest.  He  asked 
as  Cetangi  finished,  "  And  now,  can  you  do  as  well  as 
you  say  ?  " 

"I  can't  answer  that  by  talking,"  returned  the 
young  man. 

Mathers  laughed.  "  I  rather  think  I  shall  have  to 
give  you  a  chance  to  try,"  he  said.  "  When  can  you 
come  ?  " 

"Now,  sir." 

"  Oh  !    Well,  that's  good.     I  like  promptness." 

By  evening  it  had  gone  through  the  town  that  one 
of  Buffalo  Bill's  wild  Indians  had  settled  down  to 
learn  a  trade ;  and  that  Mr.  Mathers  was  a  bold  man, 
and  would  probably  be  scalped  some  night. 

That  was  a  winter  of  prosperity  to  Cetangi.  His 
work  was  very  satisfactory,  his  wages  were  good,  and 
he  showed  no  desire  to  wander,  as  his  employer  had 
at  first  expected.  If  the  other  workmen  had  been 
prepared  to  make  him  run  the  gantlet  of  criticism 
and  ridicule  often  the  fate  of  new  comers,  the  sinewy 


WORK  169 

figure  of  the  Indian  bending  over  his  work  in  a  silence 
contrasting  with  the  chattering  of  his  companions 
would  have  restrained  them.  They  were  not  sure 
what  disposition  might  lurk  under  that  dark  brow. 
But  when  his  dignity  and  reticence  had  won  their 
respect,  as  his  good  service  had  that  of  his  employer, 
when,  as  they  put  it,  they  had  got  better  acquainted, 
Cetangi  was  well  liked  by  them.  In  the  church  to 
which  he  went  he  was  kindly  received.  And  after  a 
while,  because  he  would  not  be  known  among  the  low, 
he  came  into  acquaintance  with  a  most  respectable 
class  of  people. 

Besides  his  personal  success  Cetangi  was  presenting 
a  new  phase  of  Indian  character  to  the  people  of 

One  evening  at  a  temperance  meeting  he  was  called 
upon  for  a  speech.  He  at  once  went  to  the  platform 
with  a  fear  which  was  never  suspected;  but  once 
launched,  he  found  the  sailing  smooth.  He  believed 
in  his  subject,  and  neither  want  of  thought  nor  want 
of  words  impeded  him.  He  heard  the  applause  with  a 
triumph  which  was  not  all  personal,  for  it  seemed  to 
him  also  evidence  that  an  Indian  could  make  himself 
heard  among  white  men  on  matters  of  common  con 
cern. 


170  ONOQUA 

The  following  morning  Mr.  Mathers  added  to  the 
orders  he  was  giving  him  a  comment. 

"  I  hear  you're  quite  an  orator,  Cetangi,"  he  said. 
"  Glad  you  did  well." 

And  then  Indian  eloquence  was  remembered. 

In  January  there  came  a  note  from  one  of  the 

social  leaders  of  L ,  asking  Cetangi  to  call  upon 

her  that  evening.  Oddly  enough,  she  had  been  one 
of  those  most  afraid  at  first  of  the  hidden  tomahawk. 
"  We've  been  thinking  this  winter,"  she  began,  "  that 
we  ought  to  have  an  Indian  Association  in  this  place, 
and  we  are  going  to  organize  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
We  want  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  belong  to  it.  They 
work  together  better  in  any  such  thing,  you  know ; 
we  ladies  have  so  much  more  time  on  our  hands,  and 
they  save  us  from  looking  too  much  on  the  senti 
mental  side  ;  they  bring  in  the  practical.  And  then, 
you  see,  the  gentlemen  always  pay  more.  We  shall 
be  a  richer  society  if  we  bring  them  in." 

"And  then  they  vote,"  said  Cetangi. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  laughed,  "  that's  true  ;  they  vote ; 
and  if  we  have  them  in  our  Association,  we'll  instruct 
them  how.  Now  next  week  we  are  going  to  call  a 
public  meeting,  and  we  want  to  get  up  all  the  interest 
possible  and  to  present  all  we  can  of  the  Indian's  side 


WORK  171 

of  the  question.  You  will  do  this  admirably.  You 
see,  the  Indians  ought  to  have  a  representative.  Will 
you  come  and  tell  us  what  the  Indians  need,  and  how 
to  help  them  ?  " 

"  The  Indians  ought  to  have  a  representative,"  she 
had  said.  "Will  you  come  and  tell  us  what  the 
Indians  need  and  how  to  help  them?"  The  blood 
ran  hot  with  delight  through  Cetangi's  veins. 

"  Will  you  do  it  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Linton. 

"Yes,  I  will  do  it,"  answered  the  young  man 
simply.  And  she  went  on  to  give  him  particulars  of 
the  coming  meeting. 

"She  afterward  commented  to  her  husband  that 
Cetangi  was  an  intelligent  young  man,  but  there  was 
no  enthusiasm  about  him. 

The  hall  was  well  filled.  A  number  of  speeches 
had  been  made  when  Cetangi  was  introduced. 

At  his  school  exhibitions  circumstances  had  made 
his  place  for  him.  But  he  saw  that  now  he  was  in  a 
place  which  Heaven  had  given  him  power  to  make 
for  himself.  Then  he  had  spoken  to  those  predis 
posed  in  his  favor.  Here  might  be  many  predisposed 
another  way.  He  was  here  to  fight  his  way  in  opinion, 
as  he  had  fought  it  in  work  ;  and  in  both  cases  he 
was  fighting  for  his  race. 


172  ONOQUA 

"  My  tribe,  as  you  know,"  he  said,  "  is  not  wild. 
The  people  are  going  to  school  to  civilization.  Now, 
how  do  we  teach  at  school  ?  Children  don't  remem 
ber  telling  ;  but  when  they  begin  to  work  at  the  thing, 
then  they  learn.  That's  the  way  with  Indians.  We 
don't  have  the  same  rules  for  our  school  that  you  do 
for  yours,  or  else  we  should  learn."  Here  some  one 
asked  what  he  meant.  "  I  mean,"  answered  Cetangi, 
that  you're  trying  to  make  us  American  citizens  out 
of  America.  There 's  no  American  freedom  on  a  res 
ervation.  God  teaches  men  to  find  out  laws  and  to 
keep  them  by  making  them  suffer  when  they  break 
them.  He  puts  them  out  into  the  middle  of  things, 
and  so  they  have  to  look  around  and  understand. 
That's  the  way  the  Indians  ought  to  be  treated ;  they 
ought  to  be  made  citizens  by  doing  examples  in  citi 
zenship.  We're  not  in  America  now,  I  say,  on  the 
reservations  ;  we're  outside  of  it.  Some  men  are  born 
brighter  than  others.  But  if  they're  Indians  they're 
expected  to  wait  around  for  the  tribe.  The  Indian 
hangs  half  way  now  ;  he's  nowhere.  He  is  proud,  he 
doesn't  like  to  be  nowhere.  Do  you  ?  He  knows 
about  Government ;  he's  born  to  govern  ;  he's  been  at 
it  a  long  time."  And  the  speaker  straightened  him 
self.  "  Somebody  asks  me  what  an  Indian  reserva- 


WOKK  173 

tion  is  ?  "  he  went  on.  "  First  of  all,  it's  a  place  where 
there  isn't  any  work.  What  if  all  the  work  were 
taken  out  of  here  ?  " 

"  Bread  riots/7  said  some  one  in  the  audience. 

"  Perhaps  that's  what  some  of  the  Indian  dances 
are,"  returned  Cetangi. 

As  the  applause  subsided  he  bent  forward  with 
eager  face  and  flashing  .eyes. 

"  You  ask  for  examples,"  he  said.  "  I  will  give  you 
those." 

And  he  did  until  he  set  his  audience  on  fire  with 
his  own  intensity,  and  the  Indian  cause  looked  to 
them  as  it  had  never  looked  before,  and  instead  of 
wearisome  obligation  promising  only  indefinite  end, 
it  stood  a  burning  question  of  the  test  of  American 
institutions,  of  American  justice  and  fair  play,  and  of 
the  practical  illustration  of  the  golden  rule,  with  the 
needs  and  possibilities  of  a  common  human  nature 
overs  weeping  all  differences.  "Why  do  you  put  all 
Indians  in  one  broad  swathe  ?  "  he  finished.  "  Why 
not  let  them  civilize  Indian  file  ?  That's  the  natural 
way." 

He  knew  as  he  stood  there  that  night  with  plaudits 
ringing  music  in  his  ears,  that  here  he  had  won  the 


174  ONOQUA 

recognition  of  the  present  American  rights  of  his 
people,  he  had  put  a  hand  to  the  only  lever  that  could 
lift  the  mighty  block  to  progress  out  of  their  path. 
While  the  new  society  was  organizing,  and  as  after 
ward  he  stood  silently  listening  to  the  comments  and 
praises  of  the  people  about  him,  his  eyes  were  full  of 
the  vision  of  Onoqua  as  she  had  appeared  in  the  midst 
of  the  camp,  an  embodiment  of  purity  and  power, 
lifting  up  Ahsaniak  and  carrying  her  away  from  the 
contamination  of  the  dance  and  the  scenes  that  ac 
companied  it,  and  speaking  to  him  the  warning  that 
saved  his  life.  Her  voice  seemed  sounding  in  his  ears 
and  he  saw  the  glad  look  that  she  would  turn  upon 
him  if  she  knew  what  he  had  been  doing.  Now  they 
were  working  together. 

Was  it  this  that  made  him  thrill  with  a  new 
and  strong  delight  ?  Would  to  work  always  with 
Onoqua  mean  to  be  always  the  highest  possible  to 
him? 

The  longing  for  her  which  his  busiest  moments  had 
scarcely  held  in  abeyance,  returned  upon  him  with 
tenfold  power. 

The  strength  of  a  new  resolve  gave  his  head  a 
prouder  bearing  and  his  voice  a  finer  ring  as  he 


WORK  175 

turned  his  thoughts  to  the  questions  pouring  in  upon 
him. 

He  spent  the  night  in  wondering  who  that  man 
would  be  who  to  Onoqua  should  not  mean  merely  "  a 
human  life." 


176  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MISREPRESENTED 

"'TWAS  that  night  in  the  storm,"  said  Mrs.  Winder, 
as  she  rose  to  take  leave  of  Mrs.  Griswald.  "  Nobody 
could  stand  it.  Poor  little  thing  !  She's  never  had 
half  a  chance  for  her  life.  But,  after  all,  it's  best  she 
should  die,  for  where  could  she  go  ?  Her  father  will 
not  see  or  hear  about  her,  even  now ;  and  he,  certainly, 
would  have  no  pity  if  she  were  to  get  well." 

"No,"  returned  Mrs.  Griswald  accompanying  her 
visitor  to  the  door.  "  I've  been  there  all  the  morning. 
If  devotion  could  save  her,  she'd  surely  live.  That 
young  girl,  by  her  own  power  of  will,  turned  them  all 
out  but  Tahnas,  and  has  done  everything  for  her  her 
self  with  what  little  help  she  could  get  out  of  Tahnas, 
and  the  little  I  could  do  for  the  poor  child.  But, 
poor  Ahsaniak,  it's  only  a  question  of  a  few  hours 
now.  I'm  glad  the  forlorn  baby  died." 

"When  I  left  there  this  morning  it  seemed  as  if 
she'd  not  last  till  now.  The  house  was  full  then, 
however,"  said  the  agent's  wife. 

"  Oh,  that,  of  course.  Onoqua  can't  keep  the  squaws 


MISREPRESENTED  177 

from  crowding  into  the  outer  room  and  squatting 
there  and  whispering.  But  she  does  keep  them  away 
from  Ahsauiak ;  she  couldn't,  though,  if  the  poor  thing 
were  not  in  disgrace.  Then  the  medicine  men  would 
flourish  over  every  order  we  could  give.  Onoqua's 
will  would  be  nothing.  However,  as  I  said,  'twill  all 
be  over  soon.  The  doctor  said  there  wasn't  a  shadow 
of  hope."  And  with  a  sigh  the  visitor  turned  away. 

Ahsaniak  lay  as  she  had  lain  for  hours.  She  could 
scarcely  have  been  paler  had  it  been  the  last  paleness, 
and  she  would  not  be  more  silent  when  her  lips  should 
close  forever.  But  her  eyes  were  open  and  fixed  upon 
Onoqua,  and  her  hand  held  that  of  the  girl  who  had 
proved  her  truest  friend.  The  moments  ran  on  and 
there  came  no  change,  except  that  the  sun  of  early 
February  as  it  moved  on  nearer  its  setting  slanted 
longer  lines  through  the  little  window. 

But,  gradually,  her  lids  drooped  more  and  more. 
Onoqua  thought  of  what  the  doctor  had  said,  that  she 
would  soon  go.  This  was  a  sign  of  it.  The  hand 
clasping  the  other's  still  kept  its  hold,  however,  and 
Onoqua's  still  folded  about  it  in  assuring  quiet. 

All  at  once  Tahnas'  head  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"Cetangi  is  outside,  Onoqua,  and  wants  to  speak 
with  you." 


178  ONOQUA 

Cetangi ! 

Every  fibre  in  her  thrilled.  Her  soul  flashed  back 
from  the  dark  valley  over  which  she  had  been  leaning 
into  the  full  sunlight  of  life.  She  rose,  and  her  hand 
began  gently  to  withdraw  itself. 

But,  suddenly,  Ahsaniak's  grasp  tightened;  her  eyes 
opened.  Onoqua  bent  over  her.  "  I'll  come  back  in  a 
moment,  Ahsaniak.  I  must  go  away  only  one  minute." 
And  she  tried  more  decidedly  to  free  her  hand.  "  I'll 
come  back  to  you  at  once,  Ahsaniak,"  she  repeated. 

The  dying  girl's  other  hand  clasped  itself  about 
Onoqua's,  and  the  dark  eyes  so  soon  to  be  closed  for 
ever,  turned  full  upon  her  face  with  an  agony  of 
entreaty.  The  appeal  was  all  the  stronger  that  it 
was  made  in  a  silence  that  foreshadowed  the  last. 

Again  Onoqua  bent  over  her.  "  It  is  only  for  one 
moment,  Ahsaniak ;  let  me  go  for  one  moment,  I'll 
come  back  again,"  she  pleaded. 

But  either  the  other  did  not  comprehend,  or  else 
she  could  not  lose  sight  of  her  only  friend.  Onoqua 
must  release  herself  by  force,  must  leave  her,  perhaps 
to  go  into  the  dark  valley  alone,  and  who  could  tell 
how  close  she  was,  —  or  she  must  send  Cetangi  a 
message  instead  of  going.  How  had  she  strength  for 
this? 


MISREPRESENTED  179 

A  third  time  she  tried,  silently,  to  release  her  hand. 

But  again  the  pathetic  eyes  completed  the  work  of 
the  clinging  hands. 

"Tell  him  how  it  is,"  she  entreated.  "Tell  him 
that  I'll  see  him  by  and  by,  make  him  understand 
why  I  cannot  come  now  ;  will  you,  Talmas  ?  "  And 
with  a  nod  Tahnas  withdrew  dropping  the  curtain 
behind  her. 

But  before  she  could  go  to  Cetangi  standing  out 
side,  she  had  first  to  recount  to  those  within  how 
Ahsaniak  would  die  holding  fast  Onoqua's  hand. 
When,  finally,  she  went  to  speak  to  the  young  man, 
he  had  gone  nearly  out  of  sight  in  his  walk  up  and 
down  before  the  house.  While  she  was  waiting  for 
his  return,  one  of  the  women  in  the  room  came  to  the 
door  on  her  way  home. 

"I'll  tell  him,"  she  said.  "You  needn't  wait." 
And  Tahnas  went  into  the  house  again. 

Ahsaniak,  left  alone  with  Onoqua,  with  the  captured 
hand  in  her  own,  looked  up  at  the  girl  with  a  smile 
so  beautiful  that  Onoqua  could  never  forget  it.  Then 
her  face  settled  into  its  quiet  again,  she  withdrew  one 
hand  and  the  clasp  of  the  other  lightened ;  again  her 
eyelids  dropped  for  a  longer  and  a  longer  time,  and 
then  closed  altogether.  She  was  so  pale,  so  still,  that 


180  ONOQUA 

the  watcher  bent  forward  to  listen  if  there  were  any 
breath,  or  if  this  were  the  end.  No,  Ahsaniak  was 
breathing  very  faintly ;  she  was  asleep. 

The  girl  watched  her  attentively  for  a  time,  the 
breathing  still  went  on ;  the  grasp  had  relaxed  so 
that  she  gently  drew  away  her  hand,  and  yet  Ahsan 
iak  did  not  wake.  For  a  few  minutes  at  least,  all 
seemed  well.  And  now  Onoqua  would  go  to  find 
Cetangi;  she  would  see  him  and  speak  to  him, — 
unless  Pejito  should  do  it  first.  And  she  shuddered. 

The  outer  room  was  empty  for  the  time,  the  women 
had  gone  home  because  it  was  late.  "  Did  you  tell 
him  ?  "  she  asked  Tahnas  as  she  threw  on  her  cloak. 
And  Tahnas  assented,  having  delivered  the  girl's 
message  exactly  to  the  woman  who  had  promised  to 
deliver  it  to  Cetangi  already  coming  toward  the  house 
again.  Onoqua  went  out.  Surely,  he  would  be  near. 
.  No  one  was  in  sight.  She  looked  up  and  down  the 
path,  dreading  to  turn  in  the  wrong  direction  when 
every  moment  was  precious.  Would  he  not  be  likely 
to  learn  where  Mahaka  was,  and  try  to  find  him,  if, 
indeed,  he  had  not  been  there  first  ?  Yet  in  that  case, 
he  might  have  gone  back  to  wait  for  her. 

But  Cetangi  had  not  gone  to  Mahaka.  He  had 
met  the  woman  who  had  come  out  of  the  house  where 


MISREPRESENTED  181 

he  knew  Onoqua  was,  and  Naumatin's  evil  eyes  had 
looked  into  his.  "  I  bring  you  a  message  from  Ono 
qua,"  she  had  said  after  her  greeting.  "  She  will  not 
see  you.  She  has  been  told  you  asked  for  her,  and 
she  will  not  see  you.  But  perhaps  you're  not  like 
our  braves  in  our  tribe ;  it  may  be  you'll  ask  her 
again,  you'll, want  to  see  her  so  much.  She  knows 
you're  here ;  she  will  stay  in  the  house,  or  why  didn't 
she  come  to  the  door  to  speak  to  you  when  you'd 
come  so  far  to  see  her  ?  Onoqua's  a  great  lady.  If 
Cetangi  waits  round  long  enough,  he  may  see  the 
print  of  her  footsteps  in  the  snow,  he  may  have  that 
to  make  him  happy."  And  to  this  jeer  she  added 
others,  until  Cetangi  turned  on  his  heel  and  hurried 
away  from  her.  She  watched  him  out  of  sight. 
"Naumatin's  tongue  is  longer  than  Pejito's  arm,"  she 
muttered. 

Onoqua  had  not  gone  far  when  a  figure  came  toward 
her  that  at  first  she  thought  was  Cetangi ;  and  her 
quick  pace  slackened,  she  would  not  fly  to  meet  him. 
But  the  step  out  of  which  the  lightheartedness  of 
youth  had  gone,  the  mournful  eyes,  were  not  Cetangi's. 
Opposite  her  he  stopped;  his  look  questioned  her 
with  pathetic  eagerness.  He  hesitated,  then  he  asked, 
"  Onoqua,  is  Ahsaniak  living  ?  " 


182  ONOQUA 

"  Only  just  living,  Howaxte,"  she  answered  him 
with  her  eyes  full  of  tears.  He  moved  aside  for  her 
to  pass  on,  and  when  after  a  minute  she  looked  back, 
he  had  disappeared.  She  went  forward  faster  than 
before. 


DID   SHE   TELL   YOU?  183 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

DID    SHE   TELL   YOtJ? 

MAUKEENEET  coming  from  the  home  of  one  of  her 
friends  passed  the  woods  that  ran  far  up  one  of  the 
hills  which  formed  the  dividing  line  between  the  two 
rivers  on  which  were  the  greater  part  of  the  settle 
ments  of  the  reservation.  It  was  near  here  that 
Cetangi  had  spoken  in  the  autumn  and  roused  the 
opposition  of  many  of  the  Indians. 

The  slanting  sun  shone  through  the  lower  boughs 
of  some  of  the  nearest  trees,  and  her  quick  eye 
detected  among  the  long  shadows  that  fell  there  two 
figures  which,  surely,  were  not  thrown  by  any 
trees. 

Following  up  the  irregular  outlines,  she  saw  a  man 
unfastening  his  horse. 

Immediately  she  ran  toward  him,  and  panting  from 
her  haste,  and  the  steep  climb,  arrived  just  as  he  was 
mounting.  He  took  his  foot  from  the  stirrup  as  she 
called  his  name,  and  accepted  the  hand  she  held  out 
to  him  in  greeting. 

"Why,  Cetangi!     Where  did  you  come  from,  and 


184  ONOQFA 

where  are  you  going  in  such  a  hurry  that  you  can 
hardly  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"  I  came  from  a  long  way  off.  And  I'm  going  back 
again." 

Then  his  gloomy  face  suddenly  lighted.  "Who 
sent  you  here,  Maukeeneet  ?  " 

"Who  sent  me  here?  Why,  nobody.  Who  sent 
you  here  ?  And  what  are  you  going  home  for  when 
you've  just  come  ?  "  She  scanned  him  with  deter 
mined  curiosity.  What  was  the  matter  with  him  ? 
As  he  did  not  answer  her  at  once,  she  asked,  "  You've 
seen  Mahaka,  and  Onoqua  ?  " 

"No"  he  answered.  "Mahaka  doesn't  know  I'm 
here,  and  your  sister  has  refused  to  see  me,  Mau 
keeneet.  She  would  not  even  come  to  the  door  to 
speak  to  me."  And  he  turned  to  his  horse  again,  and 
again  put  his  foot  into  the  stirrup. 

"  But  she  sent  you  some  word  ?  She  sent  you  why  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  sent  me  why ;  she  didn't  want  to.  She 
thinks  that's  reason  enough."  He  flung  himself  upon 
his  horse.  "  Good-by,"  he  said. 

Maukeeneet  stood  in  dumb  amazement  at  this 
revelation  of  Onoqua.  Cetangi  gathered  his  reins. 
The  horse  took  a  step  forward  into  the  steep  path ; 
but  Cetangi  must  wait  until  the  girl  should  move 


DID   SHE   TELL    YOU  ?  185 

before,  lie  could  go  further.  She  barred  his  way. 
"Who  told  you?" 

"  Naumatin ;  she  came  out  of  the  house." 

Maukeeneet  had  a  very  sweet  smile,  and  it  broke 
out  now  like  the  sunshine.  "  Naumatin  is  my  mother. 
I  know  her  very  well.  She  speaks  the  truth.  But 
Naumatiii  doesn't  give  everything  away  at  once. 
She  doesn't  tell  all  the  truth  always ;  she  tells  a 
part  and  saves  the  rest  for  another  time.  Did  she 
tell  you  that  Ahsaniak  is  dying  ?  And  that  Onoqua 
is  taking  care  of  her  ?  " 

Cetangi  sprang  to  the  ground.  He  threw  off  the 
reins,  not  seeing  whither,  and  came  up  to  Maukeeneet. 
"Perhaps  she  could  not  come,"  he  said.  And  his 
voice  was  vibrating  with  delight. 

The  girl's  laugh  rang  out  under  the  trees,  so  long,  so 
full  of  uncontrollable  mirth,  that  the  young  man  stood 
abashed  and  the  blood  surged  up  into  his  face. 
"I  —  I  don't  see  anything  to  laugh  at,"  he  said, 
embarrassed  and  annoyed. 

Maukeeneet's  eyes  danced  with  their  fun.  "0, 
Cetangi,  that's  because  you  haven't  gone  round  on 
the  other  side  of  it.  If  you  were  I  and  I  were  you, 
you'd  see  it  fast  enough."  Suddenly,  she  looked  at 
him  gravely.  "  Was  it  better  two  minutes  ago  ?  " 


186  ONOQUA 

she  asked.  "If  you  want  to,"  she  added,  without 
giving  him  time  to  answer  her,  "  you  may  wait  here. 
I'm  going  to  see  Onoqua." 

And  she  ran  down  the  hill,  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight. 

Half  a  mile  beyond,  she  met  her  sister,  who  told 
her  errand  and  begged  her  to  wait  with  Ahsaniak, 
and  asked  if  she  had  met  Cetangi.  Maukeeneet 
answered  gravely  that  she  had  passed  him  somewhere 
near  the  woods,  and  he  might  still  be  there. 

The  snow  gave  out  a  crisp  sound  under  Onoqua's 
swift  steps.  The  ground  was  sparkling  with  the 
bright  mantle,  the  western  sky  was  radiant ;  all  her 
pathway  was  lit  with  splendor.  She  was  passing 
from  death  to  life,  from  her  haunting  fears  of  the 
fate  of  Cetangi  to  his  living,  speaking  presence. 
Her  words  must  be  few,  for  at  home  a  duty  waited 
her.  But  could  he  not  see  her  again  to  tell  her  more 
of  his  work  for  their  people,  the  common  cause  ? 
This  was  what  she  said  to  herself.  Yet  under  it,  her 
heart  was  beating  with  a  strange  wonder  that  Cetangi 
should  come  at  all. 

In  sight  of  the  woods  her  steps  lagged  a  little,  for 
Cetangi  came  down  the  road  toward  her  as  if  Mer 
cury's  winged  shoes  were  on  his  feet. 


DID  SHE  TELL  YOU  ?  187 

Onoqua  did  not  need  the  sunset  glow  in  her  face 
to  illumine  it  to  him.  All  her  loveliness,  all  his 
boldness  rushed  over  him  at  the  sight  of  her,  and 
that  fear  which  does  not  shame  a  warrior  filled  his 
heart.  He  was  so  unworthy  of  her,  how  could  she 
help  seeing  it  ?  He  looked  at  her  in  a  sudden  embar 
rassment  and  held  out  his  hand  in  greeting.  "  How 
do  you  do,  Onoqua  ?  "  he  said  simply. 

She  answered  him,  and  added  that  she  did  not 
know  he  had  been  about  the  reservation. 

"  I've  come  only  now,"  he  said.  And  there  was  a 
momentary  silence.  Onoqua  longed  to  ask  about  his 
escape,  but  she  could  not  bring  forward  a  matter 
with  which  she  herself  had  had  so  much  to  do.  Had  he 
come  from  his  own  reservation  ?  "  No,"  he  answered 
her.  "  There  was  nothing  to  do  there.  Nobody  can 
be  a  man  there  as  things  are  now,  only  an  Indian. 
I've  been  working." 

And  he  gave  the  experience  of  the  winter. 

She  listened  with  breathless  eagerness  as  the  two 
went  slowly  on  toward  her  home,  for  she  had  told 
him  that  poor  Ahsaniak  must  not  wake  and  find  her 
gone. 

Cetangi  leading  his  horse,  talked  more  and  more 
earnestly,  watching  the  interest  in  the  sweet  face  be- 


188  ONOQUA 

side  him,  and  the  light  that  shone  in  the  eyes  now 
raised  to  his,  and  now  drooping  in  a  new  shyness. 
She  did  not  hear  every  word  he  said  to  her,  for  the 
constant  thought  that  all  her  fears  had  fled  like  night 
before  the  sunrise  and  Cetangi  was  walking  in  health 
and  strength  beside  her.  And  in  going  on  nearer 
and  nearer  to  Ahsaniak,  to  give  her  last  comfort  to 
the  dying  girl,  it  was  still  always  life,  and  not  death, 
that  was  filling  Onoqua's  heart. 

"  It  has  been  very  different  with  us  here,"  she  said. 
"  The  winter  has  been  so  hard  and  there  has  been  so 
little  hope.  But  I  always  believe  that  God  will  re 
member  us." 

And  she  went  on  to  tell  him  in  detail  many  of  the 
sufferings  of  the  past  months,  not  of  her  own,  but  of 
those  of  the  people  about  her,  even  poorer  than  she 
was,  and  without  the  little  knowledge  that  helped 
her  in  many  ways.  As  she  talked,  the  loveliness  of 
her  character  came  out  more  and  more,  and  the  young 
man  drew  closer  as  they  went  on,  and  listened  with 
only  a  word  of  comment  now  and  then. 

All  at  once  she  stopped.  "I  ought  to  remember 
it's  so  different  from  your  life,"  she  said.  "Perhaps 
you  don't  care  for  all  this,  —  I  mean,  all  these  stories 


DID   SHE  TELL   YOU  ?  189 

about  people  that  you  scarcely  know.  And  you've 
done  so  differently,  —  so  much." 

"  Onoqua ! "  He  stood  before  her  in  the  path. 
She  looked  at  him  with  eyes  in  which  the  wonder 
deepened,  until  they  fell  before  the  gaze  that  met 
them.  "  Onoqua,  I've  done  nothing,  I  can  do  nothing 
without  you.  It's  for  you  I've  come  here.  My 
heart  is  full  of  you  all  the  time.  I  love  you,  Onoqua. 
I  want  you  for  my  wife.  This  is  what  I've  come  to 
tell  you." 

As  he  stood  still  barring  her  way,  slowly  the  girl 
looked  up  at  him.  His  flashing  eyes,  his  tones  vi 
brating  with  passion  and  delight,  sight  and  music 
wedded  unto  words,  told  all  the  story  to  her. 

In  his  arms  she  hid  her  face  close  away  from  those 
eyes  she  could  not  meet.  And  if  he  scarcely  caught 
her  whispered  words,  he  understood  them. 

And  yet  it  was  soon,  very  soon,  that  the  two  were 
walking  on  again  toward  Onoqua's  home.  She  had 
remembered  Ahsaniak. 

Cetangi  looked  at  her  with  new  trust.  Something 
in  her  heart  would  be  forever  beyond  his  reach ;  it 
belonged  to  God.  And  his  reverent  nature  saw  in 
this  the  source  of  her  loveliness. 

Ahsaniak  lay  motionless.     But  life  had  not  gone. 


190  ONOQUA 

For,  as  Onoqua  bent  over  her,  she  perceived  that  the 
breathing  had  not  grown  fainter.  On  the  contrary, 
wonderful  as  it  was,  yet  in  the  deep  and  quiet  sleep 
that  had  fallen  upon  her,  it  seemed  to  the  watcher  that 
this  breath  had  steadied  itself  and  gained  some 
what. 


FACE  TO  FACE  191 


CHAPTER  XXV 

FACE  TO    FACE 

CETANGI  running  lightly  down  the  hill  after  he  had 
left  Onoqua,  came  face  to  face  with  a  large  Indian  on 
whose  lowering  countenance  were  lines  of  craft  that 
are  usually  considered  to  belong  to  lighter  muscles. 

This  Indian  at  the  sight  of  Cetangi  stopped  sud 
denly,  drew  back,  stood  a  moment  as  if  to  make  sure 
that  his  eyes  were  not  deceiving  him,  and  without 
any  other  greeting  than  his  prolonged  stare  was  about 
to  turn  off  on  one  side  of  the  trail. 

Instantly,  Cetangi's  pistol  was  levelled  at  him. 

"  One  step,  and  you're  a  dead  man,"  cried  the  young 
Indian.  "  My  aim  will  be  better  than  yours.  Stand 
there,  Pejito.  Pve  something  to  say  to  you." 

"  Are  you  coming  back  here  ?  "  asked  Pejito,  meet 
ing  fully  the  eyes  he  could  not  avoid. 

"What  I  do  is  no  concern  of  yours,"  returned 
Cetangi.  "I  shall  render  you  no  account  of  my 
actions,  or  my  plans.  But  I  have  one  thing  to  say  to 
you.  What  you  tried  to  do  last  fall  is  known  where 
you  would  not  want  it  known.  I  have  those  who  can 
prove,  and  if  anything  happens  to  me  on  this  reserva- 


192  ONOQUA 

tion,  or  anywhere  else  within  reach  of  you,  you  will 
suffer  for  it ;  and  for  what  you  tried  to  do  before. 
Try  it  when  you  like.  That's  all  I  want  of  you. 
Tell  Kasde  and  the  others  what  I've  said."  He 
dropped  his  pistol  to  give  his  hearer  a  chance  to  pass 
on. 

But  Pejito  stood  a  moment.  There  was  more  than 
personal  hatred  in  his  heart.  Things  were  going  on 
so  well  on  the  reservation,  the  long,  slow  plans  of  the 
deeper  heads  among  the  Indians  were  working  them 
selves  out.  Day  by  day  he  was  gaining  influence 
among  the  wildest  of  the  people,  as  well  as  with  those 
who  were  turning  more  and  more  away  from  their 
former  desire  for  the  white  man's  ways.  Was  this 
young  man  coming  here  now  to  upset  the  best  of  his 
work  ?  For  Cetangi's  words  still  lingered  in  the  hearts 
of  those  who  had  listened  to  him.  Pejito  looked  at 
him  steadily,  even  coming  a  few  steps  nearer. 

"  Pejito  scorns  those  that  flee,"  he  retorted.  "  But," 
—  and  his  voice  deepened,  —  "  the  curse  of  Wanigiska. 
You  will  not  escape  that;" 

"  I  defy  the  curse  of  Wanigiska.  I  warn  you  of 
the  curse  of  God.  That  is  all  any  man  should  fear." 
And  Cetangi  came  down  the  slope,  passed  by  Pejito 
and  out  of  sight  in  the  turnings  of  the  way,  while  the 
other  still  stood  looking  back  at  him. 


FACE  TO  FACE  193 

Onoqua  ?  This  was  what  Cetangi's  coming  meant. 
True,  Pejito  had  seen  a  girl  in  another  tribe  whom 
he  knew  was  better  suited  to  him,  whose  ways  had 
pleased  him,  and  whose  reception  of  him  had  nattered 
his  vanity.  For  what  he  would  have  called  his  heart 
had  been  caught  at  the  rebound.  If  not  the  civilized 
girl,  then  an  Indian  to  the  top  of  her  bent.  Still,  he 
was  in  no  mood  to  see  Cetangi  win  where  he  had 
failed. 

But  if  anything  were  done  to  him,  and  the  white 
man  should  begin  to  question,  where  would  he  stop  ? 
There  were  things  to  be  brought  about  in  Indian 
liberty,  the  whole  success  of  which  depended  upon 
secrecy.  He  would  consult  the  others,  not,  surely,  on 
account  of  Onoqua,  but  as  to  what  might  be  done 
with  Cetangi  for  the  safety  of  their  cause. 

Plainly,  nothing. 

Onoqua  sitting  by  Ahsaniak,  saw  Pejito  go  past  in 
gloomy  meditation,  saw  him  glance  at  the  house  with 
a  scowl  of  malignity.  He  must  have  'just  met 
Cetangi,  and  now  she  had  learned  the  story  of  the 
autumn.  She  fell  on  her  knees  in  sudden  terror  and 
prayed  for  the  life  of  the  man  she  loved. 

That  evening  Matoska  sat  by  his  fireside  talking 
with  Cetangi.  Onoqua  flitted  back  and  forth,  now 


194  ONOQUA 

with  Ahsaniak,  and  then  for  a  few  minutes  listening 
to  the  two.  Matoska  heard  the  story  of  Cetangi's 
winter,  and  full  of  respect  for  his  prospective  son-in- 
law,  he  yet  sighed.  "  You'll  be  all  gone  away  from 
us  then,"  he  said. 

Onoqua  standing  for  a  moment  beside  her  lover, 
laid  her  hand  lightly  upon  Matoska's  shoulder. 
"We're  always  one  with  you,  father,"  she  said. 
"  Don't  be  afraid.  We  all  belong  to  one  another." 

Cetangi  looked  up  at  her  suddenly. 


A  JUNE  DAY  195 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

A   JUNE   DAY 

IT  was  a  day  in  early  June.  The  tender  green 
of  the  young  leaves  was  still  upon  the  trees,  the 
brightness  of  the  grass  knew  no  fading  of  time,  the 
clouds  floated  high,  and  through  the  heaviest  of  them 
the  sunlight  struck  so  that  they  dazzled  the  eyes  of 
those  who  in  them  would  have  sought  for  rain  or  an 
augury  of  sorrow.  This  was  the  wedding  morning  of 
Onoqua  and  Cetangi.  The  ceremony  was  to  take 
place  at  Mr.  Griswald's  house.  Many  guests  were 
invited,  and  everything  was  to  be  done  to  give  impor 
tance  to  a  marriage  in  the  white  man's  way. 

It  was  a  busy  morning.  Mrs.  Griswald  was  most 
active,  but  Mrs.  Winder  was  not  far  behind;  even 
the  agent  went  back  and  forth  briskly  more  than 
once,  coming  out  of  the  house  with  a  well-pleased 
expression. 

The  guests  began  to  arrive  early.  The  men  came 
up  to  Cetangi  in  groups  of  twos  and  threes.  As  they 
sought  out  on  ration  days  every  bit  of  savage  finery 
to  display  in  honor  of  the  savagery  of  the  day,  so, 


196  ONOQUA 

here  with  a  nice  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  they 
had  labored  to  make  themselves  as  far  as  possible  in 
accordance  with  the  American  order  of  things  going 
on  at  the  house  of  the  white  man.  The  honor  done 
to  Onoqua  was  in  a  sense  honor  to  them  also,  and 
they  did  their  best  to  reciprocate  it.  For  whatever 
of  citizen's  dress  they  possessed  was  worn  on  the 
occasion. 

The  result  on  that  far-away  reservation,  into  which 
civilization  had  entered  slowly  and  slightly,  was 
unique.  Matoska's  overalls  had  been  replaced  by 
nether  garments  more  appropriate  to  the  occasion, 
and  he  wore  a  coat  of  deer  skin  exquisitely  em 
broidered,  and  a  stove-pipe  hat  which,  as  he  did  not 
think  it  proper  upon  such  a  day  of  ceremony  to 
remove  it,  somewhat  interfered  with  his  comfort  by 
hitting  against  the  ceiling  of  the  low-studded  room 
whenever  in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness  he  lifted  his 
tall  figure  to  its  full  height.  But  the  moccasins  still 
held  their  own,  and  to  some  extent  compensated  for 
the  inconvenience  of  the  headdress. 

Tahnas,  with  scarlet  ribbon  at  her  throat  lying 
against  a  neat  print  dress,  felt  as  really  at  the  dawn 
of  a  strange  day  as  if  she  herself  had  been  a  bride, 
and,  it  must  be  confessed,  no  ballroom  belle  in  a  robe 


A   JUNE  DAY  197 

of  her  own  designing  and  confident  of  its  success, 
ever  watched  more  keenly  and  covertly  for  the  evi 
dences  of  her  triumph.  She  would  be  Indian  again  to 
morrow,  but  who  could  say  that  she  did  not  know 
how  to  be  civilized  ?  If  Haneeyet's  dress  was  Indian, 
yet  her  hat  was  as  much  a  white  girPs  as  if  it  were 
still  in  New  York,  from  which  place  in  some  mysteri 
ous  way  it  had  wandered.  Maukeeneet's  blue  muslin 
was  very  pretty  and  becoming,  and  more  than  one  of 
the  young  men  looked  at  her  with  a  new  approval. 

Onoqua's  simple  white  dress  was  the  gift  of  the 
agent  and  his  wife,  and  Cetangi  had  gathered  for  her 
a  great  bunch  of  violets  half  hidden  in  their  leaves, 
though  she  had  thought  it  was  too  late  for  them. 

Even  the  many  Indian  costumes  in  the  assembly 
were  modified,  here  by  a  red  or  a  blue  necktie,  there 
by  a  pair  of  boots,  most  frequently  by  a  hat  of  some 
shape  which  had  once  been  fashionable  in  some  far- 
off  city;  and  one  Indian  being  possessed  of  a 
pair  of  gloves,  probably  thrown  aside  by  some  travel 
ler,  wore  them  peeping  out  from  under  his  blanket 
with  every  movement,  to  his  own  immense  satisfac 
tion  which  quite  overbalanced  the  discomfort. 

Waha  would  not  come.  Pejito  was  absent  from  the 
reservation.  His  wife  was  present  in  full  Indian 


198  OXOQUA 

finery.  Mahaka  in  his  school  suit  looked  well  at 
Cetangi's  side. 

Howaxte,  the  friend  of  both,  came  in  last,  also  in 
his  school  suit,  but  with  no  holiday  aspect.  He  tried 
to  do  his  part  well,  but  Onoqua's  eyes  dimmed  with 
sudden  tears  as  she  looked  at  him.  For,  through  all 
the  joyful  music  of  her  heart,  there  floated  a  minor 
strain  full  of  the  tears  of  one  voice  that  should  have 
rung  with  laughter,  the  once  happy  voice  of  a  girl. 

After  the  wedding  came  the  feast.  This  was  held 
in  Matoska's  house,  or  rather,  about  his  house.  It 
was  from  this  feast  that  the  two  had  come  to  the 
house  built  by  Cetangi,  and  furnished  with  odds  and 
ends  that  would  have  done  little  to  satisfy  a  more 
exacting  bride.  But  Onoqua's  judgment  and  taste 
had  made  the  best  of  her  small  possessions,  and  she 
would  not  listen  to  Cetangi's  assertions  that  they 
were  not  what  she  ought  to  have. 

The  two  turned  to  the  door.  The  cottage  was  on 
the  side  of  a  hill,  farther  back  from  the  river  than 
the  two  other  houses  in  sight,  and  on  higher  ground. 
They  looked  down  upon  these  and  upon  the  bright 
stream  on  which  the  western  sun  was  then  shining. 
The  golden  light  struck  across  the  grass  and  sifted 
through  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  until  all  the  air 
seemed  glowing. 


A   JUKE  DAY  199 

As  they  stood  there,  Cetangi's  arm  about  Onoqua, 
her  hand  resting  on  his  shoulder,  her  sweet  face 
suddenly  grew  sad.  For  between  her  and  the  glowing 
sky  there  rose  up  the  vision  of  the  face  that,  as  she  and 
Cetangi  were  on  their  way  here,  had  for  one  instant 
looked  out  at  them  from  the  thicket  beyond  Matoska's 
house,  where  its  owner  had  hidden  herself  all  that 
day,  a  face  so  wan,  so  despairingly  sad,  that  Onoqua 
could  have  wept  at  the  sight  of  it.  For  Ahsaniak 
had  not  died  as  men  call  death.  Many  times  had 
Onoqua  wished  that  the  poor  girl  had  gone  out  of  life 
with  the  smile  of  peace  upon  her  lips.  But  she  had 
lived,  to  die  in  all  but  breath,  lived  to  separation  from 
all  about  her,  to  an  isolation  complete  in  the  midst  of 
life,  a  death  without  its  sanctity.  Waha  had  refused 
ever  to  see  her  again.  The  shelter  of  Matoska's  roof 
was  still  hers ;  but  this  shelter  was  all.  To  Onoqua's 
further  entreaties  he  had  been  inexorable.  She  must 
bear  her  punishment,  her  life  apart.  That  afternoon 
as  Onoqua  had  come  up  the  hill  with  Cetangi,  Ahsa 
niak  had  looked  out  at  them.  But  before  Onoqua  could 
call  her,  she  had  vanished  again.  It  would  have  been 
useless  to  try  to  follow  her  then,  but  she  should  be 
sought  out  the  next  day. 

And   then    Onoqua's    eyes   came  back  to  Cetangi, 


200  OtfOQtTA 

and  again  she  saw  the  golden  glory  before  them,  as 
through  the  hill  gaps  the  clear  sun  shone  its  brilliant 
prophecy  of  the  morrow.  With  a  smile  she  looked 
into  his  face. 

As  Cetangi  stood  looking  out  upon  his  future  home, 
it  seemed  all  at  once  as  if  the  band  of  hills  behind 
which  the  sun  was  hastening  to  drop  down  rose  up 
before  him  like  a  barrier,  that  he  could  never  climb 
them,  that  they  were  holding  him  down,  closing  him 
in ;  as  if  they  were  nearer  than  ever  before,  higher, 
and  kept  off  the  light  and  air  of  heaven.  Beyond 
them  was  the  life  that  he  had  looked  for,  that  he  had 
loved.  In  a  few  days  after  his  betrothal  to  Onoqua 
he  had  gone  back  to  his  work  again,  and  had  been 
more  successful  than  before.  He  had  gone  far 
toward  winning  himself  a  vantage  ground  worth 
having,  toward  bringing  the  people  about  him  into  a 
new  view  of  Indian  possibilities  and  Indian  rights. 
And  now,  all  this  good  work  he  had  undone.  For  he 
had  heard  behind  him  as  he  went  away,  whispers  of 
scorn  at  Indian  instability  and  lack  of  appreciation 
of  kindness  and  encouragement.  "What  does  it 
amount  to  if  he  can  do,  and  won't  ?  "  people  had 
sneered.  Energy,  push,  pluck,  endurance,  all  the 
qualities  that  had  built  up  a  continent,  must  be 


A   JUNE   DAY  201 

wanting  in  one  who  would  begin  his  work  and  desert 
it  in  the  height  of  its  success.  Cetangi  saw  that 
with  all  his  ambitions,  he  had  done  more  harm  than 
good  to  his  cause. 

And  why  had  he  done  this  ? 

Onoqua  would  not  follow  him.  She  would  leave 
him  free,  she  would  rejoice  in  his  work.  He  had  no 
ties  and  duties  to  keep  him  in  his  home.  But  it  was 
different  with  her;  she  must  not  leave  her  people, 
they  needed  her. 

In  all  his  suffering  Cetangi  had  not  hesitated.  He 
had  looked  into  the  beautiful  eyes  so  pathetically 
turned  upon  him.  "  I  must  have  you,  Onoqua,"  he 
had  said.  "  I  will  come  back  and  live  here  with  you." 

And  so  from  being  a  man  free  like  other  men,  he 
had  come  back  to  being  an  Indian  on  a  reservation. 
Only  an  Indian  who  has  tasted  other  life  and  appre 
ciated  it,  and  from  this  goes  back  to  drink  to  the 
dregs  the  humiliation  that  the  reservation  system 
heaps  upon  him  can  ever  know  the  bitterness  of  the 
degradation.  Even  now,  as  yet  only  sipping  at  it, 
this  bitterness  filled  his  being.  Would  the  time  ever 
come  when  he  would  grow  accustomed  to  the  taste, 
and  cease  to  mind  it?  His  gloomy  eyes  fastened 
themselves  upon  the  hills. 


202  ONOQUA 

The  light  hand  pressed  his  shoulder.  "What  is 
it,  Cetangi  ?  What  troubles  you  ?  " 

He  turned. 

All  the  scene  changed.  He  saw  only  the  lovely, 
pure-hearted  girl  at  his  side,  he  heard,  instead  of 
scorn,  the  marriage  vows  which  seemed  still  trembling 
on  her  lips.  If  he  had  lost,  had  he  not  gained 
a  thousand  times  more  ?  Who  had  so  much  right  as 
he  to  be  perfectly  happy  ?  Onoqua  had  told  him 
truly  that  he  could  do  much  here.  Did  he  repent  of 
his  choice  ?  Eepent !  Would  he  not  make  the  same 
at  this  moment  if  it  were  needed  ? 

«  My  darling  ! " 

But  as  he  felt  her  heart  beating  against  his  own, 
he  remembered  again  the  different  life  that  he  had 
dreamed  of  for  her. 

Then,  in  the  sweetness  of  her  presence  there  came 
to  him  a  sense  of  that  freedom  of  soul  which  may  be 
a  human  being's  under  all  circumstances. 


GATHERING   CLOUDS  203 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

GATHERING    CLOUDS 

IT  was  a  happy  summer  to  Cetangi  with  Onoqua 
beside  him.  The  weather  had  been  good  and  the 
harvest  promised  fairly.  He  saw  the  brighter  side  of 
all  things,  and  when  his  melon  patch,  which  he  had 
hoped  would  bring  him  in  some  money,  brought  only 
a  party  of  Indians  who  feasted  on  them  until  not  a 
melon  remained,  he  listened  to  Onoqua's  patient 
prophecy  that  the  people  would  learn  better  in  time, 
and  laughed  at  the  surprise  that  the  descent  of  the 
Indians  had  been  to  him,  and  at  the  recollection  of 
how  they  had  enjoyed  the  feast,  and  how  they  had 
eaten.  The  sunshine  of  the  long  summer  days,  the 
happy  talks  and  plans,  the  work  that  he  and  Onoqua 
did  together,  filled  his  heart.  The  two,  certainly,  set 
an  example  of  industry,  but  if  this  was  observed,  it 
was  not  imitated. 

One  day  Cetangi  remonstrated  with  Matoska, 
because  he  was  practically  doing  nothing,  and  would 
have  no  crops. 

But  we  have  to  go  to  the  beef  issue  every  week  in 


204  ONOQUA 

the  summer,  and,  you  know,  Cetangi,  ration  day 
comes  two  days  after.  We  can't  help  that;  we  have 
to  get  our  food.  This  ground  doesn't  raise  much. 
How  can  I  hoe  my  corn  when  I  have  to  go  off  to 
the  agency  ?  How  can  any  of  us  ?  If  they  give  us 
farms  where  we  make  money,  that's  different.  But 
we  like  it  here,  we  want  to  stay.  We  get  some  hay  ; 
that  does  very  well.  But  we're  tired  of  beef.  W^e 
want  our  old  food,  we  want  our  buffalo  again.  This 
grass  grows  for  him.  We  like  to  hunt ;  we  are  men 
then;  we  do  as  we  please.  We  hoe  our  corn  for 
nothing  but  just  to  have  the  white  man  see  we  can 
work.  When  the  white  man  works  he  gets  money. 
Hey,  Cetangi  ?  He's  right  to  work  then.  We 
work,  too,  when  that  time  comes.  But  now  when  we 
get  money  we  always  owe  it  to  a  white  man  ;  I  don't 
know  how  it  happens.  The  Government  doesn't  give 
us  our  beef ;  we've  paid  for  it  over  and  over.  We're 
not  beggars ;  we  have  money.  And  if  we  don't  get 
any  food  out  of  the  white  man  for  our  land,  we  get 
nothing  at  all.  We  Indians  like  to  trade,  too;  we 
know  how." 

And  Matoska's  laugh  had  the  ring  of  tragedy  in 
it.  He  was  so  ignorant,  so  helpless ;  and  he  per 
ceived  neither. 


GATHERING  CLOUDS  205 

And  at  the  feasts  to  which  he  occasionally  went 
because  there  was  nothing  else  to  go  to,  Cetangi 
caught  references  to  the  country  being  made  for  the 
buffalo,  and  mysterious  hints  as  if  the  past  had  not 
gone  out  of  reach  forever. 

With  autumn  the  prospect  darkened.  There  was 
more  dancing,  more  complaint,  more  reason  for  the 
latter.  Cetangi  was  not  the  only  Indian  who  per 
ceived  in  their  situation  the  lack  of  that  motive  for 
exertion  which  in  all  lands  goads  on  the  white 
man,  —  the  reward  of  it. 

"  We  must  be  patient,  Cetangi,"  said  Onoqua,  one 
of  these  autumn  days,  answering  his  expression,  for 
he  had  said  nothing.  "  I'm  sure  it's  the  right  way." 

"Patient,  Onoqua?"  he  said,  glancing  through 
the  open  door  at  the  signs  in  the  landscape.  Here 
was  winter  at  hand.  The  stiffened  leaves  of  the  trees 
gave  out  a  crisp  sound  as  they  moved  with  the  first 
faint  breath  of  that  wind  that  would  soon  whistle  in 
rage  through  the  bare  boughs,  —  winter  with  nothing 
wherewith  to  make  ready  for  the  snow  and  the  long 
cold.  "  Do  you  mean  with  the  patience  of  the  hunter, 
that  long  waiting  that  has  victory  at  the  end  of  it  ? 
Yes,  we  can  show  that  patience.  But  patience  for 
nothing  ?  Why,  Onoqua  ?  "  He  came  still  closer  to 


206  ONOQUA 

her.  "  Give  Mahaka  an  anvil  and  some  iron,  and 
horses  to  shoe,  and  money  when  he  has  done  it,  and 
he  would  never  dance  another  medicine  dance.  You 
know  it.  I've  seen  him  work  out  there  at  school, 
and  for  months  straight  on.  He  likes  money.  He 
got  it  out  there.  He  didn't  spend  it  all,  either.  Give 
him  the  work,  now,  before  he  gets  back  too  far,  and 
he'd  be  all  right.  You  know  it,"  he  repeated,  and 
resumed  his  walk. 

"Yes,  Cetangi,"  she  answered  him  with  a  sob. 
"  But  I  haven't  got  the  work.  It  isn't  here." 

"It  ought  to  be  here;  and  it's  somewhere,"  he 
answered,  and  turned  away  abruptly.  In  a  moment 
as  he  came  back,  he  stopped  before  her  again.  "  If 
enough  of  us  did  well,"  he  said,  "  the  white  people 
would  believe  in  us,  and  then,"  —  he  broke  off  in  his 
eager  speech. 

"And  then, -what?" 

"  Then  they  would  save  the  rest.  They  would  find 
out  it  would  pay.  White  people  are  always  willing 
to  do  things  that  they  see  are  going  to  pay." 

Onoqua's  eyes  flashed  responsively,  and  then  fell 
again,  and  she  sighed. 

She  was  thinking  of  Mahaka. 


THE   WERE   WOLF  207 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   WERE   WOLF 

THE  winter  crept  on  until  the  days  grew  only  little 
arcs  of  light  in  the  circle  of  the  dark.  And  up  from 
the  floor  of  the  snow,  out  from  the  sky  in  sunshine  or 
in  storm,  and  whirling  down  from  the  iceplains  of 
the  North  came  the  cold.  In  the  legends  of  the 
Norsemen  it  is  in  the  cold,  a  cold  fearful  beyond  all 
human  thought,  that  the  darkness  creeps  over  the 
earth,  that  the  doom  of  the  gods  is  upon  them,  and 
that  ever  higher  and  higher  leaps  the  Were  Wolf 
fated  to  clutch  and  devour  them.  In  the  cold  the 
Were  Wolf  of  human  savagery  leaps  ever  higher  and 
higher  to  catch  and  devour  the  godlike  in  the  soul. 
For,  in  prosperity,  it  is  man's  power  which  the  cold 
stimulates  ;  but  in  adversity,  it  is  his  savagery. 

Cetangi  watched  in  those  winter  days,  and  often, 
sleepless,  through  those  winter  nights.  For  the  whis 
pers  of  change,  perhaps  of  struggle,  that  had  stolen 
through  the  summer  woods,  rang  out  hoarse  cries  in 
the  winter  sharpness,  and  the  movements,  somewhat 
languid  in  the  heat,  had  assumed  the  fierceness  suited, 


208  ONOQUA 

not  only  to  the  season,  but  also  to  warm  the  blood 
chilled  by  hunger  and  scanty  clothing.  Cetangi 
watching  thus  his  people,  and  with  heart  aglow  with 
the  sense  of  their  wrongs  and  their  helplessness,  saw 
the  power  of  the  new  receding,  and  the  old  ways 
gaining  upon  them  day  by  day  under  some  secret  and 
blighting  influence.  His  words  had  little  weight. 
Sometimes  he  thought  that  silence  would  serve  his 
cause  better,  since  it  was  constantly  kept  in  the 
minds  of  his  hearers  that  he  belonged  to  another 
tribe,  and  that  his  advice  was  interference,  if  not 
presumption. 

So,  in  poverty,  in  anxiety,  in  sorrow  for  others,  and 
often  in  trouble  themselves,  the  days  wore  on. 

For  all  Onoqua's  desire  to  have  Maukeeneet  go  to 
school,  it  would  have  been  still  more  dreary  without 
her.  Her  wit  lightened  the  burdens,  and  her  knowl 
edge  of  affairs  was  of  service.  She  often  told  Cetangi 
about  things  with  which  they  would  not  trouble 
Onoqua.  Maukeeneet  lived  with  Naumatin,  and  Nau- 
matin  knew  everything  that  the  Indians  were  doing, 
and  when  they  danced,  where,  and  what.  For  Wani- 
giska  had  been  frequently  at  the  reservation,  and  the 
medicine  dances  had  given  place  to  the  ghost  dances. 
And  besides  all  this,  there  were  murmurings  about 


THE   WERE   WOLF  209 

their  grievances,  and  rumors  of  dissatisfaction  on 
other  reservations.  Maukeeneet  told  all  this  to  Ce- 
tangi,  not  only  for  sympathy,  but  also  for  guidance 
and  counsel. 

And  under  these  things  which  might  come,  were 
the  poverty  and  the  illness  already  there. 

But  it  was  Onoqua,  and  not  Maukeeneet,  who  told 
Cetangi  how  the  girl  had  saved  herself  from  being 
sold  to  Kasde,  by  vowing  by  the  most  sacred  Indian 
oath,  that  if  she  were  forced  to  marry  any  Indian 
against  her  will,  she  would  at  all  costs,  not  excepting 
life,  betray  Naumatin  and  her  associates  to  the  Gov 
ernment. 

"  Newman !  "  The  clerk  hurried  up  at  the  trader's 
incisive  tones.  "  Look  at  that  fellow  that's  just  gone 
by.  D'you  see  ?  " 

"Why,  that's  Waha." 

The  other  laughed  derisively.  "  I  didn't  call  you 
to  tell  me  who  the  fellow  was.  I  wish,  though,  you'd 
seen  the  look  he  gave  me  as  I  called  f  good-morning ' 
to  him.  I  wanted  to  see  what  he  had  in  his  hand ; 
and  I  did,  I  saw  enough  of  it,  Newman." 

"  What  was  it  ?  " 

"  A  Winchester.     I  could  swear  it  was  the  twentieth 


210  ONOQUA 

I've  seen  in  those  fellows'  hands  this  week,  and  how 
many  there  are  we  haven't  seen  passes  me.  'Twould 
be  safe  to  say  every  man  has  one,  and  the  boys  and 
the  women,  for  anything  we  know  to  the  contrary.  I 
tell  you  what,  man,  I  sometimes  begin  to  suspect  this 
climate  doesn't  suit  my  constitution." 

"  Health  would  fare  better  elsewhere,  hey  ?  Waha 
isn't  the  man  you  like  to  see  with  a  Winchester." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  the  Indian  you  like  to  see  with 
one  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  educated  ones  are  not  going  on  the  war 
path." 

"Wait,  Newman,  until  this  seething  Christ  craze 
gets  to  the  boiling  point.  Dancing's  nothing.  But 
when  it  comes  to  Winchesters,  it  may  occur  to  the 
Indians  to  help  the  Christ  in  this  work  of  extermina 
tion  of  the  whites.  In  that  case,  we  should  get  it ; 
though  the  end  is  not  doubtful.  For  whatever  Christ 
may  have  in  store  for  their  Indian  pleasure,  they'll 
get  in  another  world ;  we'll  take  care  of  them  in  this 
one." 

As  he  turned  with  a  brutal  laugh,  he  started. 

Cetangi  stood  only  a  few  feet  away,  his  eyes  on  the 
speaker's  face. 

"Then,  you  think  there's  no  Christ  for  us  in  this 


THE  WERE  WOLF  211 

world  ?  "  he  began  ;  but  broke  off  in  open  scorn  at  the 
expression  on  the  other's  face. 

"  I've  no  gun  with  me.  Don't  be  afraid,  Mr.  Hines. 
What  would  be  the  use  in  killing  you  if  I  wanted  to 
kill  at  all  ?  We'd  only  get  somebody  else.  What 
we  hate  is  the  whole  thing.  We  want  no  agents,  no 
agencies  ;  we  want  to  live  under  the  laws  of  the 
country.  I've  seen  the  people  that  come  in  the  ships 
into  New  York  to  be  civilized ;  they're  wild  enough. 
But  they  go  to  work.  They  get  civilized  as  they  go 
along.  You  don't  shut  white  people  up  in  reserva 
tions." 

"  Nobody  to  do  it,"  sneered  Hines. 

He  retreated  a  step  at  the  flash  in  Cetangi's  eyes. 

The  Indian  turned  away. 

It  was  the  last  insult  that  Hines'  position  in  the 
Indian  service  gave  him  a  chance  to  utter  to  an 
Indian. 

He  had  of  late  winced  more  than  once  at  evidences 
of  new  vigilance  at  the  head  of  affairs.  There  were 
too  many  people  turning  up  unexpectedly,  too  many 
questions  to  be  answered,  too  much  investigation.  He 
had  decided  to  resign. 

He  was  a  day  too  late.  A  very  different  person 
from  Winder  suddenly  appeared  as  Inspector.  The 


212  ONOQUA 

very  people  whom  Hines  had  wronged  witnessed 
against  him. 

He  was  discharged. 

That  morning  Newman  looked  after  him.  "  Poor 
fellow  ! "  he  said.  "  Pity  he  isn't  white  ;  he's  almost 
smart  enough  to  be."  Then  he  went  into  the  store 
and  forgot  all  about  Cetangi,  until  that  evening  when 
with  Winder  and  Hines  he  was  talking  over  the  situa 
tion.  The  agent  was  no  coward.  He  did  not  antici 
pate  trouble ;  his  Indians  would  not  make  any  unless 
they  were  incited  by  those  from  the  other  agencies. 
He  would  have  been  glad  to  banish  Wanigiska.  But 
he  was  too  wise  for  this. 

There  was  one  remark  of  Cetangi's  that  winter 
which  Onoqua  never  forgot.  It  was  when  rejoicing 
over  the  contents  of  a  box  sent  her  by  her  friends  at 
the  East,  she  tried  to  give  him  from  it  some  little 
thing  that  he  needed.  "  No,"  he  answered,  "  there 
are  people  here  that  need  it  more."  Then,  watching 
her  in  silence  a  moment,  he  added,  more  to  relieve 
his  burdened  mind  than  to  her,  "  I  know  how  to  make 
harnesses  well ;  I've  filled  orders  and  got  praise  for 
my  work.  I'm  able  to  support  myself  and  my  wife. 
We,  Indians,  don't  want  charity ;  we  want  a  man's 
chance,  an  American  chance,"  "Yes,"  she  answered 


THE   WERE   WOLF  213 

him  softly,  and,  suddenly,  all  the  treasures  that  she 
had  been  exulting  over  lost  their  brightness.  Perhaps 
Cetangi  had  comprehended  something  of  this,  for  he 
came  forward  and  praised  the  gifts  and  expressed 
gratitude  to  the  givers.  But  as  he  left  her  soon  after 
upon  an  errand,  she  watched  his  fine,  erect  figure  until 
it  disappeared.  Was  the  strain  too  hard  upon  him, 
she  asked  herself  ?  Could  it  be  possible  that  he  would 
rust  out  in  the  inaction  into  which  she  had  virtually 
forced  him  ?  If  she  could  only  see  the  beginning  of 
the  end  of  this. 

Coming  home  one  day,  she  found  standing  motion 
less  before  her  door,  Ahsaniak.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  the  girl  had  come  to  her  house,  and  Onoqua 
greeted  her  with  delight  with  which  there  mingled 
curiosity,  for  Ahsaniak,  so  far  from  resisting  the 
isolation  to  which  she  had  been  doomed,  had  in  every 
way  possible  made  it  more  complete.  That  morning 
her  humility  and  shrinking  had  not  gone.  But  the 
other  saw  in  her  face  a  softness  which  had  not  been 
there  before,  as  if  it  were  from  shadow  made  by  sun 
shine,  and  not  all  darkness,  as  it  once  had  been. 

In  the  cottage  alone  together  by  the  fire,  Ahsaniak 
sitting  where  she  chose  to  sit  at  Onoqua's  feet, 
leaning  against  her  friend  and  looking  up  into  her 


214  ONOQUA 

face,  told  her  errand.  There  had  come  some  one  to 
Matoska  to  ask  her  of  him  in  marriage,  for  she  was 
under  Matoska's  care.  "Am  I  too  wicked,  Onoqua  ?  " 
she  asked.  "  There  is  only  one  to  do  that,"  she  added, 
and  paused.  And  in  the  pause  a  flush  came  into  the 
pale  face,  and  in  the  sad  eyes  sprang  up  a  light  of 
joy.  "  It's  only  Howaxte  to  do  that,  Onoqua."  And 
the  light  still  shone  in  her  face.  "  Am  I  too  wicked  ? 
I  know  you  will  tell  me  truly,  Onoqua."  Again  the 
young  head  drooped  in  its  habitual  humility,  and  the 
face  with  its  downcast  eyes  was  paler  and  sadder 
than  ever. 

"  Will  you  be  assured  if  I  tell  you  what  God  says, 
Ahsaniak  ?  " 

And  she  went  to  her  bookcase  and  brought  back 
her  Bible.  Like  one  whom  love  had  made  familiar 
with  its  deepest  meanings,  she  read  passage  after 
passage  of  forgiveness  and  love.  "Don't  you  see, 
Ahsaniak,"  she  said,  "it  is  God  that  has  given  you 
Howaxte  ?  " 

"  Then  I  may  love  him  ?  "  And  Onoqua,  looking 
into  the  eager  face  upraised  to  hers,  saw  for  one  in 
stant  the  old  dimple  dawn  there.  It  had  gone ;  it  was 
long  before  she  saw  it  again.  "  It  will  be  a  marriage 
like  yours,  Onoqua,"  Ahsaniak  went  on ;  "I  mean,  it 


THE   WERE  WOLF  215 

will  be  by  Mr.  Griswald  ;  not  like  yours  in  any  other 
way.  Nobody  will  be  there  but  you,  if  you  will  come. 
But  it  shall  not  be  Indian.  If  it  had  not  been  for 
that,  I  should  have  married  Howaxte  long  ago,  and 
been  so  happy;  not  like  now." 

Onoqua  with  glad  heart  looking  after  Ahsaniak, 
saw  Pejito  and  Wanigiska  going  by,  and  with  them 
in  close  conference,  Mahaka.  She  knew  what  it 
meant.  There  was  to  be  a  ghost  dance  that  night, 
that  is  to  say,  it  was  to  begin  then,  nobody  could  tell 
when  it  would  end ;  none  the  sooner  for  this  confer 
ence,  she  was  sure. 

As  she  stood  watching,  Cetangi  came  toward  them. 
Onoqua  saw  him  stop  and  speak  with  them,  and  then 
he  came  on  again.  With  a  scorn  of  the  unreasoning 
fear  that  had  seized  upon  her,  she  told  herself  that 
she  had  never  so  much  as  imagined  that  he  would 
walk  a  step  with  them  in  their  ways. 

In  the  spring  of  1890  Winder's  confidence  was 
restored.  Now  the  Indians  would  begin  their  plough 
ing,  now  the  little  danger  there  had  been  was  over. 


216  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  XXIX  . 

A    COUNCIL    OF    STATE 

IT  was  the  November  of  1890. 

Among  the  hills  which  stretch  across  the  reserva 
tion,  and  sheltered  by  its  position  from  the  north 
wind,  stood  a  tepee  in  which  a  great  fire  was  blazing. 
Around  this  fire  there  sat  one  evening  a  Council  of 
State,  the  councillors  self-appointed,  the  state  one 
which  was  yet  to  be,  a  state  as  wild  as  the  surround 
ings  and  the  costume  of  its  representatives.  Here 
were  from  a  dozen  to  twenty  men.  Upon  the  faces 
of  some  of  them  was  already  stamped  an  assurance  of 
the  triumph  that  the  future  promised ;  but  others 
were  more  wary  and  held  back  the  first  from  precipi 
tate  action. 

"  All  is  ready,"  said  one  of  these  first.  "  Sitting 
Bull  has  the  promise  of  the  chiefs  of  many  tribes. 
We've  only  to  join  him.  All  the  Sioux  are  here  with 
him.  The  Shoshones  will  move  when  he  gives  the 
word,  and  the  best  of  the  Cheyennes.  And  these  are 
only  the  beginning.  You  will  yet  see  the  land  alive. 
This  is  what  we  mean  when  we  say  the  earth  will 


A  COUNCIL  OF   STATE  217 

move.  When  once  we  are  free,  you  will  see  how 
these  quiet  ones  will  pour  forth  from  all  quarters  to 
join  us.  The  white  man  teaches  how  to  be  strong. 
We  will  all  join  together." 

"  Where  shall  we  camp  ?  "  asked  Pejito. 

"  In  the  Bad  Lands,  out  of  the  white  man's  reach. 
We  shall  sweep  down  upon  them,  not  they  upon  us. 
I  say  to  you  we  have  only  to  begin  and  thousands 
will  come  to  us.  What  are  you  waiting  for,  Waha  ?  " 
demanded  Wanigiska. 

He  was  not  now  and  here  the  Messenger  of  the 
Christ.  To  the  chief  conspirators  he  had  come  from 
Sitting  Bull ;  it  was  from  him  that  he  had  drawn 
whatever  wisdom  and  inspiration  he  possessed.  And 
now  he  unfolded  the  counsels  of  the  crafty  leader 
with  a  decision  that  met  with  universal  assent. 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for,  Waha  ? "  repeated 
Shonkaza,  one  of  the  wise  men,  and  the  others  echoed 
his  question. 

Waha  stretched  out  his  hands  to  the  blaze,  and  in 
silence  signed  to  his  son.  And  Pejito  answered  with 
deliberation,  "We  only  wait  for  the  ghost  shirts  to 
grow  strong.  We  must  dance  the  magic  into  them. 
We  must  be  ready  with  one  man  to  meet  a  hundred 
palefaces  and  not  turn  back,  but  fight  to  the  last. 


218  ONOQUA 

Sitting  Bull  is  very  great  and  very  wise.  But  Pejito 
is  a  medicine  man  also.  Does  my  leader,  Sitting  Bull, 
want  us  to  bring  him  a  strong  band,  the  flower  of  our 
tribe  ?  Or  will  he  have  us  come  to  him  with  our  own 
arms  alone  ?  However  great  his  power,  he  has  never 
refused  the  guns  of  his  warriors."  And  with  a  crafty 
smile  he  added,  "  Medicine  men  are  always  good. 
But  there  must  be  somebody  to  take  the  medicine. 
They're  of  no  use  all  alone.  Wanigiska  knows  that. 
He  knows  his  visions  are  not  for  himself." 

"  That's  so,"  returned  Weetkah.  "  They're  not  for 
us  either.  They're  for  Matoska  and  such  as  he." 

As  the  laugh  went  round,  Wanigiska  turned  with  a 
frown  to  Pejito.  "When  will  you  be  ready?"  he 
asked. 

"  I  told  you  when  we  have  danced  the  magic  into 
our  shirts.  Then  I'll  bring  you  the  best  of  our  tribe." 

"  All  the  young  men  ?  " 

A  sudden  scowl  flashed  over  Pejito's  face.  "Yes, 
all  worth  anything." 

"  You  forget  Cetangi,"  whispered  Kasde. 

A  look  blacker  than  he  had  ever  seen  before  an 
swered  him,  as  there  came  back  the  hoarse  whisper, 
"  We'll  not  leave  Cetangi,  only  his  body.  He  thinks 
Pejito  has  forgotten.  He  laughs  now.  He  shall  find 
how  it  is." 


A  COUNCIL   OF   STATE  219 

Kasde  nodded. 

Teopasha  began  to  speak. 

The  men  whom  it  would  be  safe  to  initiate  further 
into  these  schemes  for  the  future,  and  those  who 
could  only  blindly  follow  their  leaders  were  marked 
off.  The  women,  too,  came  under  discussion  for  the 
work  they  would  do.  "  The  white  man  doesn't  sus 
pect  a  squaw.  If  you  had  one  that  would  go  about 
everywhere  and  sow  her  words  softly,  like  corn  drop* 
ping  into  the  ground,  she  would  do  much,"  suggested 
Wanigiska. 

"Nauniatin  loves  to  sow  war  as  most  squaws  love 
peace,"  returned  Pejito.  "Naumatin  fears  nothing 
and  hates  everybody.  All  are  afraid  of  her,  and  lis 
ten  to  what  she  says,  and  obey  her.  The  Great  Spirit 
that  wills  our  victory  must  have  sent  Naumatin 
here." 

"  Beware  how  we  let  a  woman  deep  into  our  coun 
sels,"  said  Oakha,  the  Sioux. 

"Naumatin  can  be  silent  as  the  grave,"  returned 
Waha.  "She  sees  farther  than  any  of  us,  except 
Pejito." 

Pejito's  dignified  silence  was  full  of  satisfaction. 

"Let  Pejito  tell  her,  then,"  said  Wanigiska.  And 
so  it  was  determined.  Pejito  did  not  think  it  neces- 


220  ONOQUA 

sary  to  state  that  she  already  knew  all  that  he  did 
about  the  coming  struggle,  that  it  was  she  who  had 
taught  him  to  foment  and  use  the  deep  disaffection 
of  the  heathen  Indians  who  were  willing  to  risk  their 
all  to  reinstate  the  old  order  of  things,  and  had  taught 
him  also  to  play  upon  the  superstitions  and  unhappi- 
ness  of  the  half  educated  Indians ;  and  so  few  on 
this  reservation  had  ever  been  to  school  that  Pejito 
had  not  a  hard  battle.  What  he  had  to  fight  was  the 
subtle  sense  of  change  in  the  air,  the  sense  of  some 
thing  new  and  strange,  and  better,  in  the  future 
which,  even  here,  filled  the  heart  of  youth  with  its 
pain  and  its  promise.  This  the  wily  leaders  turned 
often  to  their  own  account.  There  was  to  be  a  new 
time  better  than  the  old,  the  messages  of  the  Christ, 
and  the  ghost  dances  roused  faith  in  the  future  and 
appealed  to  the  wildness  of  the  past. 

It  was  with  fresh  courage  in  the  help  that  Waha 
and  Pejito  would  bring  with  them  that  the  Indian 
plotters  rolled  themselves  in  their  blankets  and  slept 
the  rest  of  the  night  away. 

And  what  were  they  plotting  ? 

Indian  nationality. 

Against  what  were  they  combining  ? 

Against  a  system  that  no  white  man  would  tolerate 


A  COUNCIL   OF   STATE  221 

for  a  day,  that  no  Indians  but  those  who  have  lost 
their  birthright  love  of  freedom  can  find  anything  but 
tyranny.  Their  evil  was  not  that  they  whispered  of 
Indian  freedom,  but  that  to  them  this  meant  simply 
their  own  domination. 

It  was  on  the  very  afternoon  of  this  council  that 
Onoqua  in  her  home  was  beaming  with  happy  smiles. 

"  Look  at  him,"  she  cried.  "  Isn't  he  a  nice,  big 
fellow  ?  Mother's  darling.  He  grows  so  fast.  See." 

And  she  held  out  her  five  months'  old  baby  to  be 
admired  by  Ahsaniak,  since  the  spring  the  wife  of 
Howaxte.  The  child  had  just  wakened  from  his  nap, 
and  Onoqua  stood  with  him  uplifted  in  her  arms  press 
ing  the  little  cheek  still  flushed  from  sleep  against 
her  own,  her  loving  eyes  looking  out  upon  life  side 
by  side  with  those  baby  eyes  full  of  wonder  at  the 
marvels  he  had  seen  in  sleep  or  the  equal  marvels 
that  awakening  had  shown  him. 

"They  think  that  Indian  parents  love  their  chil 
dren  best,"  she  said.  "  But  I've  found  out  how  that 
is.  A  mother's  a  mother,  that  means  enough."  And 
smiling  softly,  she  put  the  baby  into  Ahsaniak's  lap 
to  let  her  see  how  heavy  and  strong  he  was.  "I 
think  how  the  big  world  will  look  to  him,  and  of  all 


222  ONOQUA 

the  things  that  may  happen  to  him,"  she  said,  after 
watching  Ahsaniak  for  a  time.  "  He  looks  like  his 
father." 

"  No,"  said  Ahsaniak,  "  he's  a  little  beauty,  and  he 
looks  exactly  like  you." 

Onoqua  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  But  she  was 
too  human  not  to  be  pleased  with  the  praise,  what 
ever  she  might  think  of  the  want  of  perception. 
"  Cetangi  has  done  well  for  here  this  summer,"  she 
went  on.  "He  has  raised  a  good  deal  more  wheat 
than  last  year,  and  a  great  many  vegetables,  consider 
ing  the  size  of  the  garden,  and  the  climate,  and  that 
it's  all  one  man's  work."  Then  the  gravity  that  the 
sight  of  her  baby  could  not  banish  came  into  her  face 
as  she  added,  "  I  believe,  Ahsaniak,  Howaxte  and  Ce 
tangi  are  almost  the  only  two  men  on  this  reservation 
that  haven't  danced  something  sometime  this  last 
year.  I  know  that  a  good  many  of  the  Indians  left 
off  to  plant.  They  always  do.  But  they  go  back 
again ;  they  don't  take  care  of  their  things  after 
they're  in  the  ground.  But  there's  more  of  the  dan 
cing  than  ever  this  year.  I  hoped  there  was  going  to 
be  less." 

Ahsaniak  played  with  the  baby's  fingers  awhile; 
then  she  said,  "  I  know  a  good  deal  more  about  it  than 


A  COUNCIL  OF   STATE  228 

you  do,  Onoqua.  I  used  to  hear  bad  men  talk  when 
they  thought  all  my  heart  was  like  theirs.  They 
don't  dance  just  for  amusement,  there's  worse  than 
that.  They  mean  to  get  in  every  educated  Indian 
here,  and  not  sometimes,  but  all  the  time.  They 
taunt  us  that  the  white  people  won't  have  us,  we're 
not  good  enough  for  them,  they  despise  us ;  we  must 
come  back  to  our  own.  And  the  white  people  really 
don't  want  us,  and  it's  so  hard  to  be  all  alone  ;  I  know 
how  that  feels.  We  haven't  enough  whites  here  to 
count,  and  the  Indians  despise  us  because  the  whites 
don't  help  us.  I  shall  never  go  back  again,  but  I  ex 
pect  to  live  and  die  in  the  pain  of  this  struggle. 
Onoqua,  I  don't  want  anybody  hurt  or  swept  away, 
but,  0,  how  I  wish  in  some  way  Christ  would  come." 

And  Ahsaniak's  head  suddenly  bent  low  over  the 
baby  in  her  lap  and  remained  bent  down  until  her 
trembling  lips  had  steadied  themselves. 

As  Cetangi  came  in,  Onoqua  noticed  a  heavier 
shadow  on  his  face.  "  Do  you  know  about  this  coun 
cil  ?  "  he  asked  Ahsaniak. 

"  I  only  know  there  is  one.  They  won't  tell  Ho- 
waxte  and  me  anything." 

"  True,"  he  said.     "  Nor  us." 

"  Certainly,  not  you,"  she  answered  him.     And  Ce- 


224  ONOQUA 

tangi  met  a  keen  glance  of  warning.  He  was  in 
danger,  then  ?  Yet,  after  all,  what  could  he  do  ? 
This  was  his  home.  The  Lord  would  keep  him  in 
life  until  it  came  time  to  die ;  and  fear  was  not  one 
of  Cetangi's  faults. 

December  came. 

Signs  of  trouble  were  like  snow-flakes  in  the  air 
when  all  the  heavens  are  dark  with  storm.  For,  added 
to  biting  cold,  there  was  felt  by  many  the  keener  bite 
of  hunger.  More  than  the  darkness  of  winter  was 
closing  in.  In  the  blackness  they  could  not  see  the 
dawning  of  that  Star  in  the  East  for  which  they 
watched  so  eagerly. 


MAUKEENEET'S  NEWS  225 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MAUKEENEET'S  NEWS 

"  YOU'VE  something  to  tell  me.  What  is  it,  Mau- 
keeneet  ?  " 

"  It's  only  for  Onoqua's  sake,  and  yours  for  her  I 
stay  Naumatin's  daughter.  I'm  disgusted  with  watch 
ing  signs  and  listening  to  plots.  I  like  to  draw  and 
paint,  and  be  with  you  and  Onoqua." 

"  Then,  why  don't  you  stay  ?  She's  asked  you 
again  and  again." 

"  Why  ?  You  ask  why,  Cetangi,  when  you  know 
how  Naumatin  loves  you  both.  You  know  it's  for  the 
same  reason  that  I  won't  go  away  to  school,  because 
Naumatin's  vowed  something  will  happen  to  you  if  I 
do  j  and  she  keeps  her  word.  The  whole  air  is  full  of 
storm ;  this  will  burst  very  soon.  And,  Cetangi,  a 
bolt  is  meant  for  you.  They've  been  too  crafty  for 
me  to  have  got  hold  of  words  to  prove  it,  but  I've 
overheard  what  I  know  in  my  heart  means  this. 
There's  to  be  a  move,  perhaps  to-night ;  and  this'll 
be  the  time  for  them  to  act.  I've  sent  off  Onoqua 


226  ONOQUA 

this  afternoon  on  purpose  to  warn  you.  Don't  answer 
me  as  if  you  could  risk  everything,  for  if  they  kill 
you,  it  will  kill  her." 

"'They,'  Maukeeneet?  Do  all  the  people  here 
hate  me  ?  " 

"Pejito  and  Naumatin  make  'they';  and  if  some 
of  the  young  men  don't  care  what  they  do  when 
they're  mad  with  dancing,  you're  all  the  worse  off. 
What  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  " 

There  followed  a  long  silence.  In  it  Maukeeneet's 
quick  wit  ran  through  every  device  possible  to  fugi 
tives,  and  rejected  them  all.  If  Cetangi  should  flee  to 
the  woods,  she  knew  that  in  the  search  for  cattle  he 
might  be  discovered,  and  then  there  would  be  no 
mercy.  She  knew,  moreover,  that  he  would  never 
leave  Onoqua.  The  eagerness  in  her  face  turned  to 
despair  as  she  stood  with  bent  head  and  silent  lips. 
At  last  she  looked  up.  The  rare  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

"  There  isn't  anywhere  to  hide,  except  in  God,  Ce 
tangi." 

A  flash  in  the  young  man's  eyes  answered  her. 

"  And  it's  safe  enough  there,  Maukeeneet.  And  be 
sides,"  he  added,  "  you  don't  know  this  thing,  you're 
only  afraid  of  it,  and  your  care  for  us  may  make  you 


MATJKEENEET'S  NEWS  22? 

imagine  a  little.  And  now  tell  me  all  you  know 
about  these  movements.  Are  they  really  going  to 
join  the  Sioux  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  many.  Some  are  certainly  go 
ing  off  from  this  very  dance  before  they've  time  to 
cool.  If  Naumatin  didn't  watch  me  so  closely,  I 
could  find  out  much  more.  But  I  do  well,  after  all, 
to  get  the  better  of  her  and  Pejito  together."  And 
with  a  flash  of  triumph  in  her  eyes,  the  dimples  came 
out  suddenly  in  Maukeeneet's  face  and  vanished 
again  as  abruptly.  "  Naumatin  goes  with  them,"  she 
said.  And  she  went  on  to  give  what  details  she  had 
been  able  to  gather.  "  The  reservation  will  be  better 
off  without  them,  Cetangi." 

"That  depends  on  the  trail  they  leave.  Winder 
doesn't  think  the  ghost  dances  will  amount  to  any 
thing.  It's  as  well  he  doesn't.  He  couldn't  get  help ; 
for  he  couldn't  claim  that  we'd  had  any  disturbance 
here.  It's  just  the  time  to  have  faith,  Maukeeneet." 

The  baby  stirred,  and  the  girl  took  him  up. 

Cetangi  watched  her  as  she  soothed  him.  He  knew 
well  enough  that  the  check  he  had  held  over  Pejito 
would  hold  no  longer  if  war  came.  His  own  part  now, 
a  waiting  that  seemed  supine,  was  the  hardest  lot  that 
could  have  been  given  to  him. 


228  ONOQUA 

He  took  the  child  from  Maukeeneet  and  walked  up 
and  down  with  it,  with  the  feeling  that  it  was  a 
treasure  from  which  he  might  at  any  moment  he 
snatched.  "  Let  me  toss  him,"  he  said.  "  He  likes  it." 

And  in  its  crowing  he  found  comfort. 


GHOST  DANCERS  229 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

GHOST   DANCERS 

ONOQUA,  returning  from  carrying  food  to  a  woman 
lying  ill,  took  the  trail  home  past  the  ghost  dancers, 
for  this  was  the  shorter  way,  and  it  was  late,  and  she 
must  get  home  to  her  baby.  The  spectacle  was  none 
the  less  repugnant  to  her  because  she  knew  that  those 
who  belonged  to  her  were  among  these.  Yes,  there 
was  Mahaka.  If  he  would  only  work  as  he  danced, 
what  happy  things  he  could  bring  about.  And  Ce- 
tangi  was  right ;  if  her  brother  had  had  the  chance,  he 
would  have  done  it  at  one  time.  She  could  not  tell  if 
it  would  ever  be  now,  and  what  was  the  use  of  wonder 
ing  ?  For  the  work  was  as  far  away  as  ever  ;  to-day 
it  looked  impossible.  There  was  Waha,  not  so  active 
as  the  young  men,  but,  evidently,  taking  a  leading 
part.  She  saw  Wanigiska  most  prominent.  His  pres 
ence  always  made  her  most  uncomfortable,  for  she  re 
membered  his  prediction  against  her  husband,  and 
felt  that  he  must  hate  Cetangi  because  this  had  not 
been  fulfilled.  Very  many  others  there  she  knew; 
and  there  were  some  who  a  year  ago  she  could  not 


230  ONOQTTA 

have  been  persuaded  would  ever  have  joined  in  a  bar 
barous  rite.  She  thought  that  they  would  not  then 
have  believed  it  of  themselves.  And  what  hope  was 
there  for  Mahaka  ?  For,  as  she  looked  further,  there 
was  Haneeyet,  his  wife,  leaping,  shouting  like  a  mad 
woman,  and  beginning  to  gash  herself  so  that  the 
blood  was  running.  She  would  dance  until  she  could 
see  her  brother  who  had  died  the  winter  before,  or  un 
til  some  vision  of  wonder  was  revealed  to  her,  or  she 
should  fall  down  in  a  fit  brought  on  by  her  wild 
whirling.  Onoqua  would  have  run  to  her,  but  she 
feared  to  make  her  do  greater  harm  to  herself. 
Trembling  with  pain  and  horror  she  sat  watching  as 
if  spellbound. 

Pejito's  lynx  eyes  discovered  her  early.  But  this 
did  not  disturb  him  now,  nor  lessen  his  agility.  His 
squaw  was  the  proud  witness  of  this,  and  he  had  be 
come  convinced  that  he  should  not  have  known  what 
to  do  with  Onoqua's  ideas,  for  they  seemed  more  en 
during  than  the  ground  that  he  was  stamping  on  so 
furiously  at  times. 

To  the  watcher,  all  the  wild  convolutions,  all  the 
grotesqueness,  all  that  was  barbaric  and  monstrous, 
was  lost  sight  of  as  a  spectacle  in  the  consciousness  of 
this  rite.  It  was  for  a  purpose  so  sacred,  and  it  was 


GHOST  DANCERS  231 

more  opposite  than  the  poles  from  every  teaching 
and  principle  of  Him  whose  favor  it  was  to  call  down. 
Suddenly,  she  caught  sight  of  Matoska.  Her  father 
here,  and  among  the  wildest,  her  kind,  good  father ! 
The  hot  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes.  Ah,  but  Christ 
knew  that,  however  wrongly  they  implored,  there  was 
need  of  imploring.  He  knew  that  they  had  bitter 
wrongs,  that  many  times  their  friends  had  been  found 
among  those  who  say  and  do  not,  and  their  enemies 
among  those  whose  deeds  outrun  their  swift  words 
of  menace.  He  knew  how  little  they  understood,  how 
much  they  suffered.  As  the  mad  rite  rose  into  more 
and  more  fierceness,  into  impious  calls  and  deeds, 
there  rose  in  her  heart  that  prayer  of  Christ  upon  the 
Cross :  "  Father,  forgive  them,  for  they  know  not 
what  they  do,"  that  prayer  which  oversweeps  all 
others,  which  is  the  deepest  condemnation  of  ignor 
ance  that  the  world  has  known  and  calls  upon  men  to 
drive  it  from  the  earth  as  the  murderer  of  the  divine. 

Her  eyes  were  dim  with  tears  as  she  turned  away. 

All  at  once  she  drew  in  her  horse,  and  stood  as  if 
rooted  to  the  spot. 

For,  there,  behind  the  dancers,  swinging  with  them 
with  every  movement,  his  eyes  fastened  upon  the 
wildest  of  them,  his  limbs  playing  in  perfect  and  de- 


232  ONOQUA 

lighted  imitation  of  their  contortions,  his  little  face 
aglow  with  eagerness  to  imitate,  his  eyes  already 
beginning  to  kindle  in  the  ecstasy  that  would  end  in 
frenzy,  was  a  little  boy  scarcely  four  years  old ! 
This  was  his  first  school ;  he  was  an  apt  scholar.  As 
the  dance  grew  fiercer,  hotter  and  hotter  grew  the 
light  in  the  little  face. 

With  eyes  too  strained  now  for  tears,  Onoqua 
watched.  Her  lips  were  parched,  her  hands  clenched. 
All  the  peril,  all  the  horror  had  flashed  upon  her.  She 
no  longer  saw  her  father  and  her  brother,  her  whole 
world  was  filled  with  the  boy.  She  no  longer  saw 
pathos  in  this  scene;  all  its  savagery,  its  distortion 
and  defilement  stamped  themselves  upon  her  soul. 
And  this  boy  in  the  midst  of  all,  drinking  in  the 
knowledge  with  terrible  voracity  !  God  only  knew  if 
it  would  not  poison  his  soul  forever.  This  boy,  —  a 
baby  !  Why  not  her  boy,  —  her  baby  ?  This  was  the 
child  of  the  woman  whom  she  had  just  left.  What  if 
Onoqua  were  to  be  ill,  to  die  ? 

She  came  up  to  the  child,  and  spoke  to  him. 
Wouldn't  he  like  to  go  home  with  her?  Or  she 
would  take  him  to  his  own  home.  He  should  ride 
with  her.  And  she  took  the  little  fevered  hand  in 
hers. 


GHOST   DANCERS  233 

But  the  boy  plunged  away  with  an  angry  cry,  not 
turning  his  fascinated  eyes  from  the  dance.  "Let 
him  alone  ! "  called  out  Pejito.  Onoqua  turned  away. 
The  fire  of  a  mother's  fury  was  in  her  eyes. 

Behind  her  the  dance  went  on  faster  and  faster. 

Maukeeneet,  left  alone,  amused  herself  by  making 
a  sketch  of  the  baby  as  he  lay  asleep  in  his  little  nest 
on  the  bed.  She  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  her 
anxieties  in  her  occupation.  She  was  pleased  with 
her  sketch  as  she  held  it  off  and  surveyed  it.  The 
mouth  was  not  very  good,  baby's  mouth  was  too 
lovely  to  imitate,  but  the  forehead  and  nose  were  per 
fect.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  success.  She  began  to 
grow  impatient  for  her  sister's  appearance,  and  her 
delighted  comments. 

At  last  she  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs,  and  then  some 
one  came  in.  Maukeeneet  did  not  turn  her  eyes  from 
her  sketch.  Of  course  it  was  Onoqua,  she  had  seen  her 
pass  the  window.  "  Come  and  look  at  this,  Onoqua," 
she  cried. 

No  answer.  A  figure  passed  her  and  went  toward 
the  bed.  She  glanced  up  in  surprise. 

Onoqua  with  set  lips  and  flashing  eyes  was  stand 
ing  there,  her  hair  fallen  out  of  coil  and  tossed 
about  in  the  wind  by  the  speed  at  which  she  had 


234  ONOQUA 

come,  her  cheeks  flushed,  her  whole  figure  trem 
bling  . 

Maukeeneet  sprang  up.     Had  it  come,  then  ? 

But  as  she  tried  to  moisten  her  parched  lips  to 
speak,  Onoqua  sank  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside  and 
clasped  her  child  in  her  arms. 

"  0,  come  to  us,  Thou  Helper  of  the  helpless,"  she 
cried.  "Turn  the  hearts  of  the  white  men  toward 
us.  Let  them  help  us  make  our  land  like  theirs. 
My  baby!  my  baby!"  she  moaned.  "0  God,  help 
us  to  bring  him  up  with  Christian  faith  about  him. 
Keep  him  from  these  terrible  ways."  In  uncontrol 
lable  sobbing,  her  head  sank  on  her  child. 

An  hour  later  Cetangi  came  in. 

"Are  they  going  to-night  ?  "  asked  Maukeeneet. 

"I  don't  know.  You're  not  going  back  to 
Naumatin  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  find  her,  unless  I  went  to  the  dance," 
she  answered.  "I'm  never  going  back  to  stay.  I 
shall  be  about  there  sometimes,  when  there's  any 
thing  to  be  heard." 

At  midnight,  a  knock  at  the  door.  Cetangi  opened 
it. 

Matoska  and  Mahaka  stood  there. 


MAHAKA'S  APPEAL  235 


CHAPTER  XXXII 
MAHAKA'S  APPEAL 

"  WE  go  off  to-night/'  began  Matoska.  "  The  new 
time  is  beginning,  the  good  time  for  the  Indians ;  we 
want  to  be  there.  You  come,  too,  Onoqua,  you  and 
Cetangi.  '  Twill  be  better  for  you." 

"  How  will  it  be  better  for  them  ?  "  cried  Mau- 
keeneet  with  quick  suspicion. 

Her  father  turned  upon  her  as  guileless  a  face  as 
ever  mortal  wore,  and  expressing  as  guileless  a  heart. 
Plainly,  if  there  were  mischief,  he  knew  nothing  of 
it.  "  He'll  have  a  share  in  the  new  government  by  the 
Indians  who  are  going  to  rule  their  own  people  as  in 
the  old  days,"  he  answered.  "  We  shall  have  plenty 
to  eat  and  the  white  people  will  not  trouble  us ;  there 
will  be  no  white  people." 

"  Have  the  whites  you've  known  all  been  so  cruel 
you  want  them  all  destroyed  ?  "  asked  Cetangi. 

Matoska  said  no,  but  what  could  he  do,  he  added, 
against  what  the  Christ  had  promised  ?  The  Indians 
were  obeying  him.  Sitting  Bull  had  matters  all 
planned,  he  knew  the  right  thing  to  do,  the  others 


236  ONOQUA 

had  only  to  go  on  as  they  were  told.  It  was  in  vain 
that  Cetangi  warned  him  that  these  Indians  had  not 
the  power  they  professed  to  have,  that  the  whites 
would  not  be  all  swallowed  up,  that  Christ  came  to 
save,  and  not  to  destroy.  "How  can  you  know  as 
much  as  Wanigiska?"  was  Matoska's  invariable 
answer. 

But  after  Onoqua,  sad  at  heart,  had  watched  her 
father  down  the  hill,  Mahaka  lingered. 

"What  makes  you  speak  so  about  the  things 
Wanigiska  has  told  us  ?  "  he  questioned  Cetangi. 

"Wanigiska  is  deceiving  you,  Mahaka.  He  has 
never  seen  Christ.  We  none  of  us  shall  here  ;  we  can 
only  feel  him  in  our  hearts." 

"  But  the  old  times  back  again  will  be  better  than 
these.  We  all  know  that,  Cetangi,"  returned  the 
young  man. 

"What  do  you  know  about  those  old  times,  Ma 
haka  ?  "  The  other  stood  silent.  "  You've  travelled 
many  miles  through  this  country  in  going  back  and 
forth  from  school,"  continued  Cetangi.  "  You  know 
that  the  white  men  are  like  the  blades  of  grass  on  the 
prairies,  or  like  the  trees  of  the  forest  for  number. 
You  can't  believe  they'll  all  be  destroyed.  But 
supposing  you  could  bring  back  the  old  Indian  days 


MAHAKA'S  APPEAL  237 

of  a  hundred  years  ago,  supposing  the  buffalo  came 
again,  what  would  you  gain  ?  Don't  you  like  houses 
better  than  tepees  ?  Don't  you  like  food  cooked 
better  than  raw  ?  Don't  you  like  clothes  better  than 
skins  ?  And  then,  do  you  think  that  in  the  old  times 
the  Indians  were  always  warm  and  well  fed  ?  Did 
they  always  find  the  buffalo  ?  Didn't  they  know 
hunger  and  cold?  Didn't  disease  come  and  sweep 
them  away  ?  Didn't  war  take  the  best  of  their  young 
men  ?  Tell  me  now,  Mahaka,  if  you  had  your  anvil, 
and  plenty  of  work  to  keep  your  forge  fires  roaring, 
don't  you  know  you'd  make  a  better  living  than  you 
ever  could  buffalo  hunting  ?  Why  don't  you  try  it  ?  " 
The  young  man  stood  with  bent  head.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  standing  once  more  in  the  midst 
of  his  schoolmates,  that  the  anvils  were  ringing,  the 
hammers  beating,  and  that  now  and  then  in  the  pauses 
came  the  quick  word,  the  gay  response.  How  real 
the  fun  had  been  after  work.  And  then,  in  the 
short  time  that  he  had  lived  among  white  people, 
how  pleasant  their  praise  had  been,  how  kind  their 
friendship.  And  should  he  ever  forget  the  day  when 
he  had  goue  to  the  bank  and  had  his  interest  on  his 
bank  account  computed  and  put  on  his  book  ?  What 
possessor  of  millions  had  ever  felt  so  rich  ?  How  he 


238  ONOQUA 

had  planned  to  save  and  save,  and  what  he  would  do 
when  he  had  plenty  of  money.  And  where  was  it  all 
now  ?  Only  a  memory  more  bitter  than  even  Cetangi 
dreamed  of,  or  he  would  have  spared  him  a  little. 

He  raised  his  head  defiantly. 

"Where  are  the  anvils  round  here?  Where  are 
the  shops  ?  Where's  the  work  ?  When  I'm  among 
white  men,  I  do  as  the  white  men  do ;  when  I'm 
among  Indians,  I  do  Indian.  What  else  can  I  do  ? 
On  the  reservation  I'm  reservation  Indian."  He  sud 
denly  stopped,  and  after  a  moment  went  on  with  in 
creased  vehemence,  "  Tell  me  what  else  there  is  for 
us,  Cetangi  ?  Where  is  the  work  you  talk  about  ? 
Where  are  the  people  that  care  about  us,  that  will 
help  us  ?  Those  that  want  to  can't  do  it ;  and  the 
others  forget  us.  If  this  was  like  the  white  man's 
land,  if  we  could  get  work  and  money  and  live  like 
white  people,  that  would  all  be  different.  But  we 
have  to  do  something  to  help  ourselves,  and  what 
else  can  we  do  ?  If  I  can't  swing  my  hammer,  I  have 
to  shoulder  my  gun ;  and  perhaps  it's  just  as  well," 
he  added  with  a  sombre  look.  "We're  a  different 
race.  They  forget  us,  only  when  they  come  to  shoot 
us.  We  forget  them,  we  take  care  of  ourselves. 
We've  waited  a  good  while  for  them.  The  old  days 


MAHAKA'S  APPEAL  239 

when  we  thought  about  something  like  white  men, 
they  will  no  more  come  back  than  last  summer." 

Onoqua  had  come  up  to  her  brother,  and  was  stand 
ing  with  her  arms  about  him,  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder.  He  looked  down  at  her,  and  his  voice 
grew  husky.  "  Onoqua,"  he  said,  "  you  and  Cetangi 
believe  in  the  white  men.  Why  don't  you  tell  them 
how  it  is  with  us  ?  Then,  if  they  want  to  help  us, 
they  will.  You  tell  them  about  me,  and  how  I  came 
to  be  a  wild  Indian  again.  Yes,  tell  them  about  me," 
he  repeated. 

In  another  moment  he  had  gone. 


240  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

REVENGE 

AHSANIAK  could  not  sleep.  She  was  full  of  appre 
hension  without  knowing  any  reason  for  special 
anxiety.  Howaxte  had  not  been  near  the  dancers, 
and  she  had  not  Naumatin  from  whom  to  gather  up 
hints.  She  sat  looking  out  upon  a  landscape  which 
the  brilliant  moonlight  showed  almost  as  clearly  as  if 
it  were  in  sunlight.  She  saw  Matoska  hurry  by,  and 
soon  after  Mahaka  pass  with  slow  step  and  downcast 
face  ;  then,  suddenly,  lift  his  head  and  stride  on. 

What  did  this  mean  ?  She  wondered  over  it,  until 
the  unanswered  repetition  of  her  question  made  her 
drowsy. 

All  at  once  she  started  wide  awake. 

Who  was  that  coming  across  the  fields  ? 

He  was  trying  to  avoid  the  open  spaces.  But, 
surely,  she  knew  him. 

Was  he  coming  to  Howaxte  ?  She  hid  herself 
behind  the  window  and  fastened  her  eyes  upon  the 
advancing  figure. 

Nearer  and  nearer  to  the  house  it  came,  skirting 


REVENGE  241 

round  under  the  trees.  Howaxte  was  fast  asleep. 
Ah&aniak  was  about  to  speak  to  him  without  daring 
to  turn  away  her  eyes,  when  the  man  outside  passed 
by  the  house  without  more  than  a  stealthy  glance  at 
it  to  see  if  he  were  observed.  He  had  to  cross  a 
broad,  open  space,  and  here  the  moonlight  on  his  face 
showed  Ahsaniak  that  she  had  recognized  him  in  the 
distance.  Her  heart  stood  still,  for  that  man  could 
mean  only  mischief.  Where  was  he  going  ? 

In  an  instant  she  gave  a  low  cry  of  terror. 

The  Indian  went  on  with  swift  and  cautious  steps 
until  he  came  to  Cetangi's  cottage.  The  house  was 
still  lighted. 

Crouching  in  the  shadow,  he  watched  and  waited, 
until  by  the  moving  of  the  figures  across  the  window 
the  one  for  whom  he  was  watching  should  come 
within  range. 

At  last  Cetangi  stood  there,  the  light  of  the  lamp 
behind  him.  The  eyes  of  the  Indian  outside  gloated 
on  his  triumph.  This  time  nothing  could  save  his 
enemy. 

He  took  aim. 

A  swift,  sharp  blow  struck  up  the  gun  which  went 
off  into  the  air,  a  cry  rang  out,  hands  grasped  his 
wrist  a  voice  said  to  him,  "Kasde,  you've  done 


242  ONOQUA 

evil  enough.  I,  Ahsaniak,  who  vowed  never  to  speak 
to  you  again,  beg  you  to  spare  him  because  he  belongs 
to  Onoqua.  I "  — 

But  Kasde  wrenched  himself  free.  How  had 
Ahsaniak  followed  him  without  his  finding  it  out,  but 
by  the  very  methods  he  himself  had  taught  her? 
She  was  glad  enough  to  make  use  of  Indian  ways 
when  they  served  her  purpose.  What  appeal  were 
her  wrongs  and  her  sufferings  ?  She  had  saved  his 
enemy.  It  should  be  at  the  cost  of  her  own  life. 
But  why  should  he  shoot  again  through  the  still 
night  ? 

With  one  hand  he  held  her  powerless;  with  the 
other,  swift  as  his  wrath,  the  death  weapon  was 
raised. 

His  descending  arm  lost  its  aim,  and  the  gun  fell 
heavily  on  her  shoulder  and  threw  her  on  the  ground. 

Kasde  did  not  raise  it  again  for  the  fatal  blow. 
He  himself  was  gasping  for  breath,  held  by  the 
throat  by  a  grasp  that  had  all  at  once  made  him  as 
helpless  as  an  infant.  With  voice  gone,  life  going,  he 
lifted  his  struggling  hands  for  mercy. 

"You  want  another  chance  to  beat  down  Ahsa 
niak,  or  to  send  a  bullet  through  me,"  retorted 
Cetangi  without  loosening  his  hands. 


REVENGE  243 

"I  swear  by  the  sacred  honor  of  an  Indian," 
signed  Kasde,  his  very  fingers  by  this  time  almost 
refusing  their  office. 

"You  will  not  forego  your  revenge,"  the  other 
answered. 

"  This  is  your  revenge,"  he  returned.  "  I  swear, 
Cetangi,  Ahsaniak." 

He  was  free. 

He  lifted  his  gun  from  the  ground,  cast  a  look  of 
hatred  upon  both  his  watchers,  and  turned  with 
swift  foot  down  the  hill. 

Cetangi  looked  after  him  with  a  grim  laugh. 

"  When  we  adopt  the  white  man's  ways,  Ahsaniak, 
there's  one  Indian  custom  I  hope  we  shall  still  keep. 
There's  not  a  white  man  in  the  world  with  a  character 
like  Kasde's  that  I  wouldn't  have  pointed  his  own 
gun  at  as  long  as  he  was  in  sight.  If  the  white  man 
had  kept  to  what  he  swore  to  our  people  as  an  Indian 
keeps  his  word  when  he  swears  like  Kasde,  things 
would  be  different  now  with  our  people.  Are  you 
hurt,  poor  child  ? "  he  asked  suddenly.  And  he 
drew  her  toward  the  house.  , 

In  another  moment  her  head  was  on  Onoqua's 
shoulder. 

"Why,  I  owed  you  all  my  life,  all  my  honor  and 


244  '  ONOQUA 

joy,"  she  answered  simply  to  the  whispered  words 
that  met  her  ear.  "  God  sent  me  to  help  you.  I 
could  die  for  that." 

Through  the  frosty  stillness  came  the  sound  of 
movement.  They  could  hear  the  distant  tramp  of 
hoofs  and  snorting  of  cattle.  Men,  women  and 
children  were  going  on  this  march.  —  Where  ?  To 
what  fate  ? 

And  yet,  what  had  they  left?  Could  the  future 
be  worse  than  the  past,  than  the  present?  The 
galling  bitterness  of  his  position  and  his  life  had 
never  seemed  so  unbearable  to  Cetangi.  He  heard 
the  sounds  for  the  moment  as  if  the  men  there  were 
marching  to  freedom.  In  a  different  sense  he  was  no 
more  willing  than  Sitting  Bull  to  be  an  agency  Indian. 
But  if  he  had  joined  these  people  of  his  own  race, 
could  he  have  saved  them  from  any  overt  act,  have 
guided  and  taught  them  ? 

"Wanigiska  is  behind  Kasde," said  Onoqua.  "If 
Kasde  would,  he  couldn't  keep  you  from  him,  and 
from  "  —  she  hesitated  without  looking  at  Ahsaniak. 

"And  from  Pejito,"  finished  the  latter.  "  It's  true, 
Onoqua." 

Cetangi's  dream  was  over.  It  was  true  at  present. 
He  must  wait  for  better  days. 


KEVENGE  245 

Pejito  was  with  the  Indians  who  were  going  to  join 
the  Sioux  to  make  ready  for  the  time  of  triumph  that 
was  coming  to  them ;  and  not  only  was  he  with  them, 
but  foremost  in  marshalling  this  force  that  Waha 
commanded. 

But  through  all  his  haste  he  saw  Kasde  return,  and 
soon  he  beckoned  him.  "  Is  it  all  right  ?  "  he  asked, 
a  blaze  of  triumph  lighting  up  his  face. 

"All  wrong,"  answered  Kasde;  and  he  told  his 
story. 

Pejito's  rage  was  beyond  bounds.  But  the  men 
were  in  need  of  efficient  leading,  for  already  he  feared 
disaffection.  If  he  should  give  the  heat  of  the  dance 
time  to  cool,  he  should  lose  some  of  his  choicest  fol 
lowers.  No ;  it  was  impossible  now  to  make  Kasde's 
blunder  good,  even  if  it  were  not  certain  that  Cetangi 
would  be  on  his  guard.  He  went  on  with  his  mar 
shalling  of  men  and  stock,  for  the  camp  was  to  be  a 
few  miles  from  there. 

But  once  as  he  passed  Kasde,  he  whispered  to  him, 
"  He  shall  still  have  Pejito's  farewell." 

Braves  splendidly  mounted,  riding  recklessly,  older 
men  more  slowly,  droves  of  cattle,  the  cream  of  the 
reservation,  —  and  a  good  deal  of  the  milk  also  since 
the  departing  Indians  left  few  hoofs  behind  them,  — 


246  ONOQUA 

boys  on  horseback  acting  as  drivers,  horses  treading 
with  restless  steps  after  their  slower  predecessors, 
squaws  riding,  some  burdened  with  camp  equipage, 
others  carrying  babies  strapped  upon  their  backs, 
young  girls  on  horseback  and  boys  helping  with  the 
tents,  —  all  these  made  up  the  motley  procession 
marching  to  their  camping  ground.  The  moonlight 
threw  into  relief  everything  strange  and  grotesque  in 
figures  and  accoutrements. 

Mahaka  rode  among  the  braves,  and  received  from 
Wanigiska  and  Pejito  notice  enough  to  fill  him  with 
a  sense  of  his  importance  and  to  clear  the  cloud  from 
his  face. 

Matoska  plodded  on  in  the  rear,  smiling  to  himself 
at  the  good  times  to  come. 

Pejito  lingered  and  let  the  procession  go  past  him. 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  to  Kasde.  "  I'll  join  you  in  camp. 
Only  Pejito's  own  hand  shall  give  Pejito's  farewell." 

The  other  hesitated,  lingered,  and  then,  as  if  struck 
by  a  sudden  thought,  cried,  "Nobody  shall  say  I 
did  it." 

And  turning  his  horse,  he  galloped  madly  after  the 
bucks. 

A  great  light  aroused  Mr.  Griswald. 


REVENGE  247 

Clouds  of  smoke  were  bursting  into  the  sky,  and 
on  the  western  horizon  shone  a  mass  of  ruddy  light, 
from  which  jets  of  flame  shot  up  into  the  zenith. 

He  and  Winder  and  others  rushed  to  help. 

But  they  could  do  nothing.  The  fire  had  been 
lighted  in  many  places  at  once ;  and  the  straw  and 
hay  and  grain  under  their  roofs  of  bark  had  been 
bursting  with  flames  before  the  kindler  of  them  had 
given  rein  to  his  horse  and  flown  over  the  trail  to  the 
camp. 

The  owner  stood  looking  on  in  gloomy  helplessness. 

The  morning  showed  him  that  all  his  stock  had 
been  driven  off,  while  of  provision  for  the  winter 
there  was  only  smoking  ashes. 

Pejito  had  not  failed  to  emphasize  his  farewell. 

Cetangi  was  ruined. 


248  ONOQTJA 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 
ONOQUA'S  DECISION 

THE  dreary  day  wore  on.  Cetangi  searched  the 
hills  in  vain  for  cattle  of  his  overlooked  or  strayed 
back  again ;  not  a  hoof  was  left  behind. 

As  he  came  home  Onoqua  looked  up  with  an 
attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  How  good  they  all  are  to  us,"  she  began.  "  Mr. 
Griswald  came  first,  and  then  Mrs.  Griswald  and  Mrs. 
Winder,  and  after  them  Mr.  Winder.  They  were  all 
so  sorry.  He  was  very  kind,  and  said  he'd  do  all  he 
could  for  us." 

"  Has  he  any  work  for  me  ?     Did  you  ask  him  ?  " 

"I  did  ask  him,  Cetangi.  He  has  nothing  at 
present." 

"  That  means  through  the  winter,"  returned  the 
young  man  gloomily. 

There  was  a  silence.    At  last  Onoqua  said  softly,  — 

"  God  will  help  us  to  live,  Cetangi.  Not  one  of  the 
Indians  here  now  but  will  share  the  last  morsel  with 
us." 

"  And  you  want  their  last  morsel  to  be  shared  with 


ONOQUA'S  DECISION  249 

us,  do  you,  Onoqua  ?  I'm  a  young,  able-bodied  man 
with  a  trade,  by  which  I  can  earn  a  good  living  for 
us,  all  and  save  money  besides ;  and  you  want  me  to 
take  the  food  out  of  the  mouths  of  these  poor  crea 
tures  who  will  be  half  starved  if  they  keep  all  they 
have  ?  I've  given  you  my  promise.  If  you  like  to 
do  this,  you  must.  But  never  say  God  wants  us 
to  be  so  unjust  and  mean.  For  my  part,  it  seems  to 
me  it  would  be  His  way  to  have  me  try  to  help 
them,  since  if  I  did  it,  we  should  have  all  we  needed ; 
while  if  they  helped  us,  it  would  be  because  they  were 
going  hungry.  Which  seems  like  religion  to  you, 
Onoqua  ?  Or,  don't  you  believe  in  that  part  of  the 
Bible  that  says  we  must  not  be  slothful  in  business  ?  " 

There  was  so  long  a  silence  that  Cetangi  was  about 
to  speak  again,  when  Onoqua  said,  — 

"  But  if  you  can't  find  work  ?  " 

"  Then,  since  the  rations  don't  drop  down  here  at 
our  door,  we  ought  not  to  go  and  get  them  ?  Is  that 
what  you  mean  ?  " 

"It's  different.  How  can  we  desert  our  people 
now  ?  " 

"  You'd  rather  live  on  them  than  go  away  and  earn 
something  that  we  could  send  back  to  help  them  ?  I 
gave  you  my  promise  to  stay  here  when  I  married 


250  ONOQUA 

you,  Onoqua.  It  holds  now.  You  must  decide  going 
or  staying.  But  before  you  decide  it,  think  of  one 
thing.  If  the  baby  in  your  arms  that  looks  so  fat 
and  happy  now,  should  fade  away  in  hunger  this 
winter,  don't  say  that  you  know  it  was  God's  will  to 
take  him.  Say  you  know  that  God  might  have  taken 
him  away  with  all  our  care,  but  you  know,  too,  you 
had  so  much  Indian  tribal  notion  clinging  to  you  that 
it  made  you  forget  that  a  mother  has 'a  duty  to  her 
child.  If  I  were  asking  you  to  desert  or  neglect  your 
people,  it  would  be  different.  I'm  asking  a  chance  to 
give  to  them  instead  of  taking  from  them.  Sometimes 
I  think  you  forget  that  they're  my  people,  too.  But 
tell  me  this :  Since  for  two  centuries  we've  been 
travelling  the  breadth  of  the  land  for  the  white  man's 
benefit,  why  can't  we  do  it  for  our  own  ?  " 

But,  "  0,  my  boy  !  my  darling  !  "  Onoqua  had  cried, 
raining  tears  and  kisses  on  the  little  face.  Then 
lifting  her  eyes  to  her  husband,  she  said,  "You're 
right,  Cetangi.  It  would  be  the  best  way  of  remem 
bering  our  people  to  help  them  instead  of  taking  the 
food  out  of  their  mouths.  We  ought  never  to  take 
advantage  of  their  generosity.  We  will  go." 

"  We  shall  have  to  sell  the  house  to  buy  horses  and 
wagon  to  go  with,"  he  answered.  "  But  that  won't 
take  long." 


ONOQTJA'S  DECISION  251 

"  Sell  our  house  !  But  aren't  we  coming  back  ?  " 
cried  Onoqua. 

"  If  we  go  away  Fll  never  come  back  here  until  I 
have  enough  money  not  to  starve  if  the  crops  fail,  as 
they're  always  failing.  If  we  had  workshops  and 
factories  here,  I  should  be  sure  of  getting  something. 
Then,  there'd  be  no  ghost  dances,"  he  added.  "  But 
if  the  Lord  prospers  us,  I  may  some  day  build  up  a 
business  somewhere,  and  give  work  to  some  of  our 
people  in  it.  I  can't  do  it  here,  now ;  perhaps  never 
here.  It  must  come  wherever  I  can  do  it.  Don't  you 
think,  Onoqua,  you  and  baby  and  I  can  be  happy 
anywhere  ?  " 

The  ring  of  assurance  had  gone  from  his  voice ;  it 
was  anxious. 

Onoqua  read  it.  Cetangi  thought  she  did  not  love 
him  enough  to  be  happy  anywhere  with  him !  In  her 
love  for  her  own  race,  she  had  not  thought  of  the 
rights  of  her  child,  and  of  her  husband.  She  owed  it 
to  him  to  let  him  use  his  faculties,  all  of  them,  to 
encourage  him  to  do  it.  Instead  of  this,  she  had 
trodden  his  needs  and  his  ambitions  under  foot.  Yet, 
husband,  wife,  child,  —  here  was  the  family,  here  was 
individual  life,  here  was  the  only  way  out  of  Indian 
tribal  bondage.  The  future  lay  in  the  family,  and 


252  ONOQUA 

not  in  the  tribe.  The  -family  was  complete  in  itself, 
could  found  a  home  anywhere,  could  belong  to  any 
place,  any  country.  And  she  saw  also  that  through 
this  first  duty  the  other  would  be  fulfilled ;  for  to 
make  the  best  of  themselves  was  to  do  the  best  for 
their  people,  to  open  new  opportunities. 

Love  had  revealed  that  the  world  was  open  to  her. 

Her  beautiful  eyes  rested  upon  her  questioner. 

"  My  husband,"  she  said  softly,  "  wherever  you  are 
is  our  home.  Baby  and  I  are  ready." 

He  caught  her  to  his  heart. 

"  It's  not  giving  up  our  own,"  he  said.  "  It's  only 
adding  to  it.  It's  remembering  that  we  are  Ameri 
cans." 

"  Yes,  I  know  it,"  she  answered  him. 


THROUGH  THE  HOSTILE  COUNTRY  253 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THROUGH   THE    HOSTILE    COUNTRY. 

IT  was  a  week  later  that  they  set  out  to  find  among 
the  white  men's  industries  the  bread  that  had  failed 
them  here. 

In  their  open  wagon  they  had  such  protection  from 
the  weather  as  they  could  collect  from  their  scanty 
furnishings,  and  these  were  shared  with  Maukeeneet 
to  whom  Naumatin  had  left  nothing  when  she  had 
gone  off  with  the  hostiles. 

That  terrible  journey  through  a  country  so  poor 
and  desolate  that  their  hearts  ached  with  the  sights 
that  met  their  eyes,  a  land  where  poverty  and  suffer 
ing  and  patience  were  the  rule  and  not  the  exception, 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  them. 

With  this  broader  experience  of  Indian  needs 
Cetangi's  noble  ambition  grew. 

These  Indians  could  not  learn  industries  and  arts 
in  a  land  where  there  were  none. 

"  We  need  plenty  of  white  men  here,"  he  said  to 
Onoqua.  "  Good  farming  and  churches  and  schools 
and  workshops  spring  up  where  they  are  as  if  they 


254  ONOQUA 

grew  up  from  the  ground,  or  dropped  down  from  the 
skies.  Why  don't  our  young  men  do  like  the  white 
young  men  ?  That's  what  being  an  American  means. 
The  young  people  help  the  old  by  going  off  and  earn 
ing  money  for  them.  I  noticed  those  things  at 
school." 

"I'll  sell  my  pictures  some  day,"  said  Maukeeneet; 
"  and  I  won't  forget  my  dear  old  Matoska.  He'll  like 
the  white  people  then." 

Maukeeneet  was  so  wild  with  delight  at  the  pros 
pect  of  going  to  school  that  she  neither  felt  the  suf 
ferings  nor  realized  the  dangers  of  the  way  as  the 
others  did. 

To  Onoqua  during  that  terrible  journey  every 
valley  might  be  the  hidingplace  of  a  foe ;  every  hill 
made  Cetangi  a  better  mark ;  any  tree  trunk  might 
hold  in  ambush  Pejito,  or  one  of  his  emissaries.  And 
these  were  no  childish  fears,  for  it  was  a  time  when 
private  revenge  was  little  likely  to  receive  its  punish 
ment,  especially  when  the  victim  was  an  Indian. 
And  if  Cetangi  were  shot  down,  to  the  white  people 
of  that  region  and  at  that  time,  this  would  seem  only 
another  foe  out  of  the  way. 

At  last,  after  many  circuits  made  to  avoid  the 
hostiles  in  the  Sioux  country,  they  came  up  with  a 


THROUGH   THE   HOSTILE   COUNTRY.  255 

party  of  friendlies,  and  went  on  with  them  to  the 
agency,  to  wait  there  a  few  days,  until  travel  should 
be  safer. 

All  the  country  remembers  the  condition  of  affairs 
in  the  latter  part  of  December,  1890 ;  how  the  news  of 
the  continuance  of  peace  fluctuated  with  rumors  of 
war,  the  latter  growing  more  and  more  threatening 
with  every  move  of  the  white  men,  and  every  acces 
sion  of  strength  to  the  camp  of  the  hostiles.  Ce- 
tangi,  full  of  sympathy  for  the  Indians,  yet  fearing  a 
fatal  step  through  their  leaders,  chafed  under  inactiv 
ity.  He  must  go  forth  to  his  battle  for  them,  his 
work. 

And  yet,  in  this  unsettled  country,  for  the  sake  of 
the  others,  he  must  wait. 

Then  came  the  news  of  the  slaughter  at  Wounded 
Knee  Creek. 

"  I  must  go,  Cetangi,  I  must.  My  father  was  surely 
among  them,  and  Mahaka.  I  cannot  bear  it  not  to 
know  about  them.  'Twill  not  be  the  same  to  have 
you  tell  me,  I  must  go  myself." 

"And  I  shall  go,"  announced  Maukeeneet. 

The  whole  story  of  the  unplanned  conflict  is  known 


256  ONOQTJA 

in  every  home  in  America.  The  scenes  in  the  im 
provised  hospital  were  described  to  the  world  with 
such  vividness  of  truth  that  the  needed  supplies 
poured  in  from  every  part.  And  yet  it  was  only 
those  who,  like  the  three,  were  looking  for  their  own 
among  the  wounded  or  the  dead,  who  could  really 
know  the  pathos  of  that  history. 

Cetangi  passed  from  bed  to  bed,  his  wife  and 
Maukeeneet  following  him,  now  seeing  the  dead  or 
dying  face  of  a  stranger,  yet  one  of  his  own  race,  now 
finding  those  for  whom  there  was  hope  of  life.  Twice 
he  greeted  some  one  he  knew. 

"  They're  not  here,"  he  turned  to  say  to  Onoqua  at 
last,  when  he  saw  that  she  had  run  forward  to  meet 
the  men  who  were  bringing  in  another  wounded 
Indian. 

"  Father ! "  she  cried,  her  look  fixed  in  terror  on  the 
motionless  face. 

Matoska's  eyes  opened,  and  he  tried  to  smile. 
"The  shirts  couldn't  keep  off  the  bullets,  Onoqua," 
he  said.  "  Perhaps  we  didn't  dance  long  enough, 
Where's  Talmas  ?  " 

His  daughters  shook  their  heads  over  the  last 
question,  and  stood  by,  silent,  while  Matoska's 
wounds  were  examined.  The  physician,  a  young 


THROUGH   THE  HOSTILE  COUNTRY  257 

Indian  whom  the  blood  of  his  race  baptized  into  his 
life  service,  at  last  looked  up  at  them  with  a  smile, 
and  assured  them  that  their  father's  wounds  were 
not  dangerous. 

When  they  had  seen  that  he  was  as  comfortable  as 
he  could  be  made,  they  went  on  to  find  Mahaka.  Not 
far  from  the  hospital  they  met  Tahnas,  and  turned 
her  sorrow  into  joy  as  they  sent  her  on  to  Matoska. 
But  nowhere  among  the  wounded  whom  they  passed 
as  these  were  being  brought  in,  did  they  find  the 
brother  of  Onoqua  and  Maukeeneet. 
.  Had  he  escaped  ? 


258  ONOQUA 


CHAPTER   XXXVI 

BEARING    ONOQUA'S    MESSAGE 

"  IF  these  men  and  women  had  been  white,"  said 
Cetangi  bitterly,  as  they  came  in  sight  of  the  battle 
field,  "  all  the  world  would  have  praised  their  fighting 
for  freedom.  If  I'd  not  believed  in  a  better  way  of 
getting  it,  I'd  have  fought  with  them  here.  But  I 
know  it's  ours  if  we  will  take  it  with  a  strong  and 
peaceful  hand.  How  strange  it  is,"  he  mused  after  a 
pause,  "  how  there  seems  to  have  to  be  bloodshed  for 
everything.  It's  always  so  in  history.  After  people 
had  died  to  gain  freedom,  it  came  to  those  that  were 
left.  Perhaps  it's  because  Christ  died,  and  men  have 
in  some  way  to  follow  Him,  if  they  don't  understand 
it.  I  don't  know." 

As  they  came  upon  the  battle  ground  a  silence 
almost  as  deep  as  that  of  the  sleepers  there  fell  upon 
the  three.  Without  regarding  others  scattered  about 
the  field,  they  separated  as  they  went  from  one  dead 
form  to  another,  dreading  to  find  the  one  that  they 
were  looking  for.  Cetangi  took  the  lead,  and 
sometimes  by  a  motion  of  the  head  or  hand  turned 


BEARING   ONOQUA'S   MESSAGE  259 

his  companions  from  some  ghastly  sight  which  would 
not  have  helped  their  search. 

At  last  he  came  toward  them  abruptly. 

"Come  away,"  he  said.  "We've  had  enough  of 
this.  You  shall  not  look  any  longer.  Onoqua,  you 
can't  bear  any  more.  And  if  he  were  here,  how 
could  you  help  him  ?  " 

"  He  is  here,  you've  found  him,"  cried  Onoqua. 

And  Maukeeneet  hurrying  back  on  Cetangi's  steps, 
stood  looking  down  into  the  upturned  face  of  her 
brother.  He  had  been  shot  through  the  heart,  and 
must  have  died  instantly. 

The  rest  of  the  field  faded  from  the  sight  of  the 
watchers  as  they  lived  over  in  memory  the  life  that 
Mahaka  had  shared.  Onoqua's  intense  loyalty  to  her 
kin  had  bridged  over  the  years  when  she  had  been 
absent  from  him,  and  she  had  been  as  fond  of  him  as 
he  had  been  proud  of  her  and  tender  to  her.  Many  a 
time  he  had  saved  Maukeeneet  from  Naumatin's  wrath, 
had  laughed  at  her  wit,  and  in  every  way  done  his 
simple  best  for  her.  There  was  no  one  for  whom 
Mahaka  had  not  done  his  best,  except  himself.  To 
his  friendship,  and  its  results,  Cetangi  owed  the  hap 
piness  of  his  life.  He  remembered  as  he  stood  there 
that  there  had  been  no  evil  record  against  Mahaka's 


260  ONOQUA 

school-days.  He  had  been  too  ready  to  follow  j  but 
with  the  leadership  there,  this  had  not  proved  bad. 
No  evil  in  his  life,  or  in  his  heart,  had  brought  him 
to  the  frozen  death-bed  on  which  he  lay.  He  had 
only  been  true  to  his  nature,  and  followed.  There 
were  many  like  him.  Some  of  them  lay  near  him. 
They  had  been  sent  far  off  from  civilization  to  fight 
alone,  before  they  had  learned  the  science  of  war 
against  savagery,  or  been  equipped  to  meet  it ;  and 
their  friends  had  not  followed  them  up  with  reserve 
forces.  Leadership  was  not  in  such  as  Mahaka.  He 
had  been  the  prey  of  the  nearest,  —  of  savagery. 

"He  died  of  idleness,"  said  Cetangi  at  last  with  a 
bitter  force  in  his  tone.  "And  so  did  all  here.  I 
rather  think  Pejito  and  Wanigiska  and  the  rest  of 
them  have  kept  their  skins  whole." 

With  a  sob  Onoqua  said,  "  If  I  had  let  you  keep  on 
with  your  work,  Cetangi,  we  could  have  brought  out 
Mahaka  to  us.  He'd  have  gone  anywhere  if  any  one 
had  helped  him  to  it.  And  he  would  be  living  to 
day.  And  you'd  have  led  him  there,  as  you  did  at 
school." 

"  He  wouldn't  have  needed  leading  if  he'd  got  steady 
work.  Ghost  dances  are  only  misused  activity,  Ono 
qua.  Give  those  very  Indians  a  chance  to  make  money 


BEARING    ONOQUA'S   MESSAGE  261 

directly,  if  only  a  little,  and  they'll  send  Wanigiska 
flying.  /  know  it.  I'm  going  to  try  to  make  the 
opportunity  for  them." 

Then  he  looked  down  at  the  dead  face. 

"  Mahaka,"  he  said,  "  I  will  carry  your  message,  — 
why  you  turned  wild  Indian,  —  to  the  white  men. 
There  shall  be  no  place  where  I  shall  not  be  ready  to 
speak  it.  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  bring  the  Indian  out 
into  American  life,  until  side  by  side  with  the  white 
man,  he  helps  to  make  in  Congress, — yes,  in  Con 
gress,  —  the  laws  for  both,  the  same  laws.  Then  we 
shall  be  represented,  like  other  Americans.  This 
doesn't  come  about  on  reservations.  It  will  come." 

A  cry  from  Maukeeneet  who  this  time  had  found 
without  searching,  showed  that  she  had  discovered 
what  Cetangi  had  tried  in  vain  to  keep  from  her.  A 
few  rods  away  from  Mahaka  lay  Haneeyet,  dead. 
On  her  face  were  marks  of  struggle.  The  gunshot 
wound  in  her  neck  had  not  been  immediately  fatal. 

"  The  baby  !  "  cried  Onoqua  with  parched  lips,  and 
went  forward  as  Maukeeneet  in  trembling  haste  was 
unfastening  the  strappings  that  held  the  child  to  its 
mother. 

But  the  baby  was  dead. 

Maukeeneet  would  have  made  her  moan  in  the 
Indian  way. 


262  ONOQUA 

But  Onoqua  stopped  her,  and  stood  with  her  hand 
on  her  sister's,  struggling  with  a  grief  beyond  tears. 

At  last  Maukeeneet  touched  her,  and  pointed  with 
out  speaking. 

The  men  who  were  gathering  up  the  dead  were 
coming  to  that  part  of  the  field.  They  would  reach 
Mahaka  soon. 

As  these  took  up  the  body  of  Mahaka,  Cetangi  with 
set  lips,  Onoqua  her  eyes  dim  with  tears,  but  with  her 
hand  in  her  husband's  and  holding  her  baby  to  her 
heart,  Maukeeneet  with  a  child's  faith  in  the  future, 
turned  away  from  the  sad  and  terrible  past,  through 
the  open  door  into  the  broad  American  life,  where,  by 
the  blessed  law  of  compensation,  these  of  the  race 
that  had  known  only  the  worst  of  the  white  men 
should  now  learn  something  of  the  best,  and  where 
the  ready  hands  outstretched  in  kindness  would  meet 
the  grasp  of  answering  hands.  For  by  such  means, 
by  opportunities  opened,  by  the  spirit  of  the  people, 
the  Indians  who  have  been  robbed  of  all,  shall  have 
no  less  than  all  returned  to  them  together  with  that 
more  than  compound  interest,  the  improvements  of 
Christian  civilization. 

"  Some  day  I'll  come  to  see  you,"  smiled  Matoska 
as  they  bade  him  good-by.  "  And  don't  be  afraid, 


BEARING    ONOQUA'S   MESSAGE  263 

Onoqua.  I'll  be  like  the  white  men.  I  shall  wear 
my  hat." 

"  You  see  how  it  will  be,"  said  Cetangi  as  they 
turned  away.  "  The  father  and  mother  whose  son  is 
doing  a  good  business  and  is  well  treated  among  the 
white  men  won't  dance  ghost  dances  to  have  the 
white  men  swept  off  the  land." 

"We  know  how  parents  feel,"  Onoqua  answered 
him. 


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